Goodbye is Forever
by rubbish89
Summary: Booth finds himself pitted against a dangerous, inescapable fate. Will he succumb to his inner demons making his goodbye forever or will Brennan's healing touch guide him away from the darkness of the insane? Come find out... Angst,weirdness,PTSD and BB!
1. The mission

Booth relaxed his head against his palm, the drone of his superiors the only thing binding him to reality. He had no idea why he had been called in _now _of all times, Bones and him had an open case at the moment. He smiled affectionately. Bones had insisted that she should have a talk with his superiors, let them know how she felt about their horrendous timing, just when he was about to get "federal on their suspect's ass."

Suddenly, the conversation shifted focus to him and he shot up at the sound of his name being ground through clenched teeth. "Agent Booth!"

"Yes sir."

"This man I have been speaking too has a very important matter to discuss with you, straight from the White House."

Booth stood up straight, cleared his throat and shook the man's hand. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, sir."

"Scott Paring, General of the Army." He was a rough-looking man; an air of callousness mingled with his impenetrable stature. Booth's eyes widened with surprise. The highest ranking man in the army, six stars, wanted to speak with him.

"It is an honor to meet you General."

The tall man sat down in his chair, gesturing for Booth to do the same.

"Agent Booth, I understand you were in the army, a Ranger, is that correct?"

"Yes sir." Booth's curiosity was peaked.

"A lieutenant General. You have an impressive record of successful missions, 48 completed with flying colors."

Booth flinched as the terrifying memories of his day as a sniper came flooding back. "Thank you sir, but I was only doing my duty, serving my country. I took no pleasure in those missions."

"Really?" The general sounded taken aback by his admittance.

"That is correct sir." The general leaned back in his chair and sighed sadly.

"Son, on your resignation papers you added that you would be willing to serve your country in what ever means the military saw fit."

"Yes, sir, I wrote that and meant it at _that_ time. When they placed me in the FBI I knew it was my duty to live up to their expectations and have been doing so since."

The general nodded in agreement, but his demeanor soon turned serious.

"Agent Booth, you have been called upon by the highest authorities of this country. Your expertise is needed once more in a time of crisis."

"What!" Booth stood up, his heart beating faster. "Sir, in all seriousness, I can not go back out there."

"Agent Booth, I understand you're upset, but please sit down." Booth sat down nervously, fear clouding his eyes.

"I wish there was another way son, I really do, but the fate of our country is depending on this mission. The president needs your duties elsewhere."

"I was 24 when I wrote that sir! Hot-headed, angry, no family, no friends, no one I loved! That's changed. I have all of that now! You're sending me out there into that death hole because of what I wrote almost ten years ago!" Booth was standing once more, his anger and desperation apparent in his tone.

The General, not one to show emotion, was breaking inside for the Agent's dire plight. "I am so sorry Agent Booth, but you have no choice in the matter." Booth sunk down into the chair and rested his forehead against the conference table. "The mission is extremely dangerous. I myself don't know where or what you are to perform, but you are not to tell anyone about our meeting or your mission. It is confidential. The most crucial factor is that you must carry on about your day, like nothing has changed."

A bitter, hollow laugh tumbled from Booth's pale lips. "You . . . you're sending me on a suicide mission and expect me to just _carry on_ about my day . . . like nothing's changed."

"I never said it was a suicide mission Agent Booth."

"You didn't have to, General." Booth spat out.

"I'm going to take your emotions in to consideration and not reprimand you for speaking to your superior in that tone. There must be no goodbyes, nothing out of the ordinary, _for your country's sake_," A strangled gasp filled the air. "A military vehicle will be waiting at 3:00a.m. tomorrow morning at Jerry's Café. Letter's will be delivered about your disappearance that morning to anyone who you feel necessary."

"Tomorrow . . . that's to soon . . . I . . ." Booth was on the verge of fainting.

The General placed a warm hand on Booth's shoulder, whispering bravely, "Rangers lead the way, Booth."


	2. Torment

**A/N : **Ahhh, Thanks for all your wonderful reviews guys. As a new writer it really made my day. I will definately take into account the insightful criticism and compliments that I recevied. A warning to all the readers, I know very little about the military or if the White House is even allowed to do such a thing, but for the sake of the story it had to be done. I did do my googling on highest ranking officers in the army but i guess the internet cannot always be trusted. lol. By the way, I don't know how many missions Booth has been on or his rank so I made them up to fit the story. i have been in an angsty mood for like the past week and this was the story that came out of it. Enjoy!

The door whirred open, revealing a downtrodden Booth. Slamming it shut, he chucked his keys across the apartment and wandered into the bedroom. Head resting limply in his exhausted hands, Booth sat at the edge of his bed, the mounting frustration coursing through his veins. Red numbers glared eerily through the recesses of the darkness. Booth's eyes shifted to the clock.

"12:56 a.m., shit."

He felt the numbing affects of his recent intake of alcohol warm his body as he sauntered over to the closet. Booth grabbed the wrinkled, overused military knapsack out of the hidden corner and threw it on the bed. Packing all the necessary items, he shoved his crisp suits angrily out of the way and gently took his Ranger uniform from its resting spot.

"The soldier's alive once more." He whispered, draping the pressed outfit across his bed. Tears glistened in his somber eyes; flashes of pain, torture and death burst through the barred door of his forgotten memories.

"So real . . . it was all too real." Falling to the floor, Booth grabbed his head, a horrific torment pounding relentlessly into his temples; the rapid beating of his heart thumping agonizingly against his scarred chest. "Oh, god . . . no." Hallucinations devour all sense of reality, leaving him floundering in a hurricane of savage vengeance.

_I am in a black valley surrounded by burning trees and dead bodies. The air smells of smoke and flesh which invade my nostrils. The haunting screams of the dead echoing in my bloody ears, leaving my body frozen from the horror. My sight is clouded by crimson blood that suffocates my soul and mind, while warm, oozing liquid flows through my battered hands. They march closer. I reach for my gun but they're tearing at me with dead, icy fingers, dragging me into the burning abyss of lost souls._

"Nooooooo! Please, STOP!" Booth screamed. Snatching a lamp he hurled it at his attackers. The lamp smashed into tiny pieces, dusting the room in a cloud of broken glass. Booth wiped his drenched brow and shook his throbbing head vigorously. The nightmares receded back into their home, waiting patiently for their next moment of attack.

Booth sidestepped the shards of glass and burst through the bathroom door and dowsed his face in freezing water. Looking in the mirror, all he saw was a hollow murderer.

"So many lives . . . what kind of person does that!" The swirling rage reached its boiling point and exploded into a fit of violent attacks. Booth smashed the deceitful mirror and pummeled his fists into the bathroom wall. Plaster flew all around him as he voiced his thoughts in an infuriated cry, "I'm not a murderer! I'm a damn hero! Someone one who served his country proudly and all I get in return is fucking suicide mission!" Booth halted his tirade and huffed loudly, all his breath lost in the forgotten cry.

Leaving the destroyed room in shambles, Booth staggered over to his uniform and fingered the worn cloth. "Ranger's lead the way," He breathed, verging on acceptance of his fate. "But there is one thing I must do."


	3. Goodbye is forever

**A/N: I was in full fledged writing mode so here's the third chapter. Hope you like it cause my eyes got a little misty writing it. Cheers! **

Rain gushed from the thundering sky and lightening cracked angrily overhead. Booth—his military knapsack, draped over his sagging shoulder—stood, rooted, to the sidewalk in front of Brennan's apartment complex. Droplets of water slid from his drenched hair and onto his once-crisp Ranger uniform. The rough material clung to his body, accenting his heaving chest.

Booth shivered involuntarily, letting out a strangled sob. He quietly opened the glass door as the heated air swarmed around him. One cautious step at a time, Booth strode solemnly up the wooden staircase; weary hands gliding tenderly up the rail. Reaching the top, Booth halted his last walk to Brennan's door. He peered down the dimly lit hallway and smiled faintly. Determination was etched in his dreary face, but the swirling panic that subsided in his gut was overwhelming.

_I should turn around, walk away . . . no, I want. . . I need to do this. _Booth found his way to Brennan's door and rapped his pale knuckles across the warm wood. His breath hitched when the sound of fumbling around and muttering reached his ears.

"Oh God, what am I doing here. I shouldn't even be here." Booth's nervous stuttering stopped mid-sentence as Brennan appeared nonchalantly in the doorway.

Rubbing the hazy sleep from her tired eyes she focused on the sodden man in front of her. Worry clouded Brennan's face when he didn't speak. Booth was fixed in place, lips pursed, aching tears of sadness trapped in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Booth? . . . What's wrong? It's 2:00 in the morning and your soaking wet. Were you standing outside? Booth?" _God, she is beautiful. Even in blue p.j.'s and a t-shirt she is a goddess, an angel._

Brennan's smoky auburn locks were bathed in the glow from her small table lamp while the threatening streaks of lightening echoed through her dark apartment. Brennan placed a gentle hand on booth's chest, fingering one of his worn medals, her curiosity peaked.

"Booth, why are you wearing your uniform? Booth . . . say something please," Brennan pleaded. "You're scaring me." The last sentence left her lips in a faint whisper. Her words penetrated through Booth's euphoric daze, tugging at his heart.

"I'm sorry." He managed to choke out. Setting his bag down, Booth took Brennan's shoulders and gently propelled her inside and against the wall. He kicked the door shut as another crack of lightening illuminated their faces, a tear streaming down Booth's cold cheek. Brennan swiped the offending droplet away, on the verge of tears herself.

"Why are you crying? Please, tell me what's wrong!"

"Sshhhh." Booth traced a trembling thumb down her rosy cheeks and across her jaw line. Booth moved his mouth towards her ear and whispered in a heartbreaking sigh, "Don't think . . . just . . . feel . . . please."

Brennan willed her eyes shut against the barrage of questions that invaded her confused mind.

"Okay." She breathed, releasing the hurricane of emotions she kept locked away—privy to no one—except him.

Booth lowered his lips to Brennan's pearly skin, trailing feather-soft kisses down her jaw and neck. Brennan ran her hands through his damp, disheveled hair and down his cold back.

"Your freezing, Booth." Her concerned words were lost on him. All that filled his mind was her sweet, intoxicating taste; the smell of her fragrant hair; the feel of her soft, numbing fingers running themselves through his hair. The memory of her was being burned into all of his senses—forever— there with him until the end.

Booth stopped his kisses just short of her lips. They both felt the untapped desire in each other's warm, rapid breath. He pressed his forehead against Brennan's and smoothed his hands over her cheeks, intertwining them in the red locks that rested on her shoulders. He couldn't stop crying; the droplets cascaded down his ashen face and pooled lightly on Brennan's lips.

"I'm so scared Bones. I . . ." Brennan wrapped her arms around his shaking body and pulled him into a comforting embrace.

"It's okay . . . you're going to be alright . . . Sshhh, I'm right here . . . always." Brennan's face was filled with surprise and concern. Booth was in _her_ arms. The strong, cocky, compassionate man she longed to be with was utterly and completely broken. She was confused—frightened—and had no idea how to sooth the man she possibly loved. _Love . . . stay strong Temperance . . . for him. _

Booth needed her, as much as he could allow himself in the next few minutes. Throwing all caution to the wind, he lifted her lips to his and kissed her with all the desperation and longing that burned in him. His kiss was feverish, passion and love sweeping both of them to heaven and back; Brennan returned his kiss with an equally intense and heated fervor. Their hands trailed down each other's burning faces and smooth backs, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on their invigorating touch.

The need for air soon became their number one priority. They broke apart and it was Brennan's turn to shed her heart wrenching tears. He was saying goodbye to her.

"You're leaving me?" Brennan had both her hands on his face, directing his despondent eyes towards her. The despair covering his face told her everything. She flung herself on him, pushing him against the other wall. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her head buried in his muscular shoulder and her anguished sobs reverberating through the apartment.

"You can't, you just can't. Not now. . . please . . . not when I need you more than ever!"

"I have no choice. I wasn't even supposed to come here tonight." Booth clung to her.

"Than why would you come here?!" Brennan was angry and hurt by the sudden thought of him leaving her . . . abandoning her.

I had to say goodbye . . . I . . . I just needed us to have our moment Temperance." Booth placed Brennan on her feet, but kept a hold on her when she started to sway faintly. Booth kissed her gently, once, twice until he was overcome with emotion again. "I needed you to know that I would never abandon you on purpose, _never_, I needed you to understand that."

"I know Booth, I know. But why . . . who the hell is making you leave?" her resolve made him smile freely.

"All of your questions will be answered in the morning." Brennan was about to reply but he halted her with a loving kiss—deeply intimate and tender—that left her weak. She felt his salty tears on her blushing cheeks, but she couldn't open her eyes. At that moment everything she had ever wanted had finally clicked into place. She didn't want it to end, for reality to battle its way into her life and rip away the man who made her whole, made her want to live.

"I love you temperance." With those last words, Booth walked out of her arms and through the door. Gone forever.

Brennan crumpled to the floor, her tears staining the wood flooring, the feeling of emptiness enveloping her. "I love you Booth."


	4. Love letters

**A/N: I didn't forget the story! School has been ruining my life and Fanfiction wouldn't let me upload documents. Enjoy!**

Brennan glided silently into her office chair, a hot, steaming cup of coffee posed in her frail hands. She had discovered the secret to a goodnight's sleep: cry your broken heart out. Cry until there's nothing left to grieve but pure, dismal emptiness.

The pale white envelope rested on her desk, glaring at her in a convicting manner—mocking her weak, powerless position. She hated it. Tearing open the FBI seal, Brennan unfolded the crisp sheet of paper and read the short line that had been typed with great menace, a stamp of approval hiding innocently in the corner. _All my questions will be answered. _

**Special Agent Booth sent on mission. Location and length of absence unknown. **

**President of the United States**

**White House**

**_Thomas Howell _**

Brennan crumpled the offending letter and chucked it into her trashcan. "Are you serious! This is what the FBI, the Government . . . the _President_ believes are answers!" Rolling back in her chair, Brennan stomped over to her couch and parked herself on the soft cushions. Fury with the world danced like wildfire in her red, puffy eyes as she picked up her latest book, Bones in the Dust._ Anything to get my mind away from the pain of knowing he's gone_. Opening to her favorite chapter—one she would never admit to in real life—Brennan found herself staring at a picture of Booth with his unruly hair and charm smile gleaming comically at her. She gently touched the picture and flipped it over, cheeks burning with embarrassment at Booth's scribbled note:

Ha, caught you fair and square Bones! You could have just told me you wanted to get it on in the back of my car! Haha!

His distant laughter filled the room around her and she joined in his mirth. "All right Booth, you caught me." Setting the picture in front of her, Brennan picked up the letter that had been hiding behind it and opened it affectionately.

Bones,

You know, in the beginning, that nickname was just my way of getting on your nerves, showing you whose boss. (I learned who that was pretty quickly I might add). Never in a million years did I expect to get so emotionally or physically attached to the damn thing. It's the one word that's with me constantly, parading around in my head like it owns the place. Believe me, it does and it's there to stay.

Writing this down is a lot harder than I had anticipated. I imagined I'd be able to put pen to paper and everything I wanted to tell you would magically flow together, but, I'm not as . . . colorful . . . as you Bones. I decided that if I didn't get to tell you in person than I'm going to tell you in words because I can't leave without letting you know what's brewing inside of me.

I've fallen in love with you Bones. I'm really not sure when or how it happened, but it's there and now I'm sitting here, wishing to God that I had built-up the courage to tell you. That you might've have been feeling something too. That we might have had a chance at something more, but life is one screwed up clock and has a way of ruining the future. I don't know why I was thrown this dead-end fate, but whatever the reason; I guess I should thank it for opening my eyes and letting me discover what really matters.

Doctor Temperance Brennan, _My_ Forensic Anthropologist; the first woman who understood me completely. I swear, you have to have some kind of magical powers Bones because you called me on my bullshit, comforted me when I needed the extra touch, and encouraged me to leave my past in the past. Change was never one of my strong suits, but having you at my side, that enthralling smile, the way your laugh made my heart quicken; the constant bickering that drove me over the edge, but could never seem to get enough of. Every. Single. Thing. About. You. Made me feel like the luckiest man in the world; to wake up every morning and have this enchanting woman in my life forever. I've never had the chance to experience real love— profound, intimate, your-my-soul mate kind of love— but if this is what it feels like than my prayers have been answered twofold with the most intoxicating feeling alive.

I was dead before—cold and alone. A second chance at igniting the spark was given to me and a trivial 'thank you' will never be enough for putting me back on the right path. My sacrifice will save millions of lives—more than enough to even that cosmic balance sheet of mine, but I do have one last favor to ask you. Live life to its fullest Bones—for the both of us. Make every moment count; every ounce of happiness that's thrown your way. Find someone who will show you every exciting, fulfilling adventure that life has to offer because you deserve it all.

We both know goodbye doesn't have to mean forever Bones, so if you ever decide to change your mind about heaven, I'll be saving you a seat when the time comes.

Love, Booth

Floating delicately, as if caught on the intertwined whispers of two souls lost in the throws of chaotic severance, the letter drifted out of her fingers and settled lightly over the blissful photo. Eyes closed against the onslaught of emotions, Brennan leaned back against the couch and prepared herself for another perfect night of sleep.


	5. Hell, Fate and Promises

**A/N: Reviews seriously make me smile like an idiot. Oh how I love them so. Anyways, I finally finished this chapter. I've been working on this in between my homework assignments, which of course I should really be working on, but their boring.;) Okay, to avoid any conflict I made up a country which has been named after yours truly as well as a made up dictator and once again the only things I know about the military are what I read on the internet so take it for what it is. Enjoy! **

You and me  
We used to be together  
Everyday together always  
I really feel  
That I'm losing my best friend  
I can't believe  
This could be the end

"Don't speak"- No Doubt

Years. Months. Days. Perhaps minutes. He wasn't sure. Time had ceased to exist the moment he walked out of her life and into hell. Leaving the things that mattered most in her gentle arms: emotions, feeling, existence; everything but the impassive shell. That's all was now; the shell of a man who _used _to be.

The gripping pull of the air being forced out of his lungs yanked him out of his dwelling misery as the deafening hum of his eardrums vibrated through his body. The submarine had emerged from the murky depths of the Atlantic.

His destination had been incredibly confidential. Every detail had been hush-hush, with coded passwords, strange looking men at every drop-off point to give him the "stare-and-nod of approval" and excessive shoving into every mode of transportation imaginable. A personal promise had been made on his previous leg-to-nowhere that if he managed to survive this disaster he would walk for the rest of his life.

On onset of minor nausea sent Booth's head between his knees, sucking in leveled breaths of overused air.

"Lieutenant Booth, sir."

Booth jerked forward, the feeling of floating on air, invading his mind. "Yes, Officer Hall." He slurred, biting his lip.

"The boat is waiting for you, Sir." Hall turned on his heel and wandered off into the immeasurable unknown of the submarine.

"Great . . . That's great." The ill-induced sarcasm hanging on every syllable, as he wandered toward the sudden source of vital air. Booth tore up the ladder and stretched out onto the wide expanse of cold metal, reveling in the smell of ocean spray and calm darkness of night. Sliding into the rocking boat being tossed around by fuming waves, Booth took a seat next to a young Navy Seal.

"How'd you ever get used to sitting in that claustrophobic pit?"

The young man laughed generously. "You don't. The first thing they told me when I slid down that ladder was that I'll be howling for land after an hour. The second: get used to nobody giving a damn."

Booth shook his head with disbelief. "I don't get it."

"Yeah, me neither." Patting Booth on the back, The Seal gave him a dutiful salute, pulled himself out of the boat, and slid down the ladder—back to his chosen fate. The boat rocketed away from the Submarine and splashed across the vast sea towards the looming peaks of a distant speck of land.

Booth found himself wading hip-deep in chilling water, his ebony cargo pants dragging adamantly with the weight. Digging his sturdy lace-up boots into the sinking sand, Booth picked his way across the stony beach and sprinted off towards the faint camp fire in the distance. Anxiety settling in his gut, Booth leveled his M-24 rifle at the dark forms huddling next to the wispy fire when a sharp whisper hit him.

"Lieutenant Booth, Lower your weapon!"

Booth relaxed his rifle, swallowed loudly and saluted stiffly to the stern, aging man in front of him. The wrinkled frown penetrating through the tense air slowly lifted into an aloof grin.

"Settle down soldier. The fifty pushup punishment is for those sissy schoolboys back home, you're in the _Rangers_ now! Drop down and give me eighty!" The instant variation in tone caught Booth completely off guard and the serious glare he was receiving only increased the confusion. Stumbling over his "Yes Sir" Booth dropped to the dank ground and began his punishment with wholehearted willingness. The camp reverberated with fits of laughter as the old man slapped Booth on the back.

"Stand up young man! Haha . . . I had to be sure you were still military worthy!"

Booth bent down and brushed the encircling dust off his uniform, smirking with embarrassment as he reached for the man's hand and shook it warmly. "Did I pass Sir?"

"Major Woolf and you certainly put these giggling girls in their place." He announced, gesturing to the twenty men who abruptly shut their mouths in unison. Leading Booth to his canvas tent, the Major sat down his wooden chair, signaling for Booth to do the same.

"How much have you been told Lieutenant?"

"Not Much Major. Only that I'm to lead an operation of twenty men based on the wishes of the President." The Major leaned forward; lowering his voice so only Booth could hear.

"The men sitting outside don't even know that much Lieutenant. It's important that it remains that way for the sake of their sanity. What I'm about to tell you is confidential and must remain in this tent. Understand?" Booth nodded in acknowledgement.

"Harluk Gaveia. An unstable Dictator who has been overthrown by his country twice has been sited on an island in the Atlantic Ocean, known as Rubishia. A chunk of land that can't be located on even the most detailed military map. The Air Force has discovered that Gaveia has been manufacturing Nuclear weapons using unknown origins and is planning an attack on the U.S. that will destroy the country in one fell swoop. The factories are surrounded by maximum security. The guards are vicious, robotic, and trained in every expertise. Britain had sent in their own operation to halt Gaveia, but the soldiers were cut down before they could make it past the protective barrier. The next move was discussed and we believe we've assembled an operation of the most experienced, intelligent, fitting soldiers to perform _the_ mission destined to decide America's fate."

Booth's face was blank. Unreadable. It was unnerving. A sharp cough broke through the tense stillness. "Fate. That idea has been manipulated so much these past few weeks that I honestly don't take stock in it any longer. I'm doing this mission because it's my duty as a soldier to serve my country. It's my duty to follow through with the orders given to me. It's also my duty to protect the one's I love. It is _not_ my duty to decide the fate of America because I will not allow chance or luck to determine such an outcome. This mission _will_ be completed because I'm prepared to follow through with my duties as a Ranger."

Major Woolf stared at Booth with a reverie of stunned admiration. _This man is the epitome of a hero._ Nodding in agreement with Booth's statement, the man carried on in a dignified tone.

"You were chosen as the commanding officer for this operation based on your skills, intelligence, mental capacity and personality. This mission has a 1 chance of any of you coming out alive, but under your command the men can at least be _guaranteed_ that slim chance of survival. They need your unwavering faith in the mission to keep their heads screwed on because things are going to get pretty messed up out there. At dawn you will lead your operation across the island where you will meet Second Lieutenant Jeremy Ruckers who will fill you in on Gaveia's whereabouts. Good luck Lieutenant Booth, It was an honor to meet you."

With a salute goodbye, Booth stalked out of the tent and wandered over to where the other soldiers sat. A young man shot up and smiled genuinely. "Lieutenant Booth, it's a privelage to finally meet the Sniper who set the record for successful missions. I'm Benjamin Collins, your spotter. Oh, and welcome to what we all affectionately call "Terrorist Isle" the gateway to hell."

"Alright," Booth gleamed, rubbing his worn hands together. "Sounds like my kind of vacation!"

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She was on a mission of her own. Sharp stilettos clicking fiercely against the gleaming tile, the woman turned the corner, amber skirt flowing, determination weaved into every movement. Glowering at the two men blocking her path, they wilted from their defensive positions and simultaneously pointed towards the platform. Catching sight of her prey, the woman strutted up the steps, leaving an air of "don't mess with me" in her wake.

It had been two months. Drinks, dancing, change of scenery. Promises had been made. Emotions laid on the table. Completely sober Assurances. She had been sure that her pleading voice had gotten past the stone wall this time, this week. But once again she was marching up these same stairs, arming herself for a repeat of events.

"Brennan Sweetie." The accused woman turned awkwardly from a set of bones at her lab table, stuttering wildly at getting caught in an act of deception.

"Oh . . . Ange . . . this isn't . . . I was . . . yeah."

"Yeah is right." Angela cocked her head at the defeated woman in front of her. "You're coming with me." Rolling up her sleeves, Angela grabbed Brennan's shoulders and attempted to yank her from the overly polished bones. Brennan was ready. Locking her fingers around the smooth metal, she hung on with all the strength she could muster.

"No Angela . . . not yet! Tomorrow . . . please . . . not yet!" Brennan cried, clinging stubbornly to her lab table. Angela finally yielded her part of the tug-of-war and sat down with an exasperated huff.

"All right Bren, you win this round." Smiling faintly as the woman beside her released a relieved sigh. The men of the lab squinted quizzically at the chaos, frozen with curiosity.

"You can go back to your dead bodies now, There's nothing to see here!" Angela waved the intruders away, than turned towards the problem beside her. "We can't keep doing this sweetie. It's unhealthy working all day and night. Not sleeping, eating, talking . . . showering." She hinted at with a friendly smirk.

"I'm doing just fine!" Brennan retorted, adding a thick layer of denial.

"Bren, you've been polishing the same set of bones for a month now. That's unhealthy."

Brushing her fingers across the nameless WWII veteran laying in front of her, Brennan eyes grew wide as the fading shadow of Booth's hand feathered across her own, then vanished. Tugging on her friend's sleeve, Brennan pointed crazily into oblivion. "Did you see that!? Right there . . . Booth was right there!"

All she received was a skeptical look in return. "Now you're hallucinating sweetie. Please leave the lab with me. We can grieve like normal people, lie in bed, eat ice cream, watch lifetime reruns; you know, the works!"

"_That's_ unhealthy." The two women giggled warmly at the notion. "I can't leave Angela. He was here, at the Jeffersonian, in the lab with me all the time. I know I'm romanticizing about an illogical idea but…but…"

"It helps to believe."

"Statistically the odds are stacked heavily against him. He won't come back home alive, perhaps never even return. I allowed myself to give up hope on my parents ever returning. I can't…won't allow myself to give up again." The tears from months ago had returned, crumbling the stone wall into a puddle of dust, leaving her open and vulnerable.

"He _promised_ he wouldn't abandon me Ange. He promised and he's never broken a promise. Never."

Angela rubbed a comforting hand along Brennan's trembling arm; the emotion breaking in her voice as she spoke. "You have his faith, Bren."

A laugh tinged with reflection resounded quietly through the lab. "Hodgin's told me the same thing so I guess it must be true." Brennan looked up with urgency, ready to spew her secret. "He loves me Angela. Before he left, he let me know just how much he loves me and now he's out there on a suicide mission and will never know that….I…I've fallen in love with him!" Brennan was sobbing uncontrollably, but all Angela could do was grin joyfully at Brennan's admission.

"Don't' you dare give up on Booth, Sweetie. You two are meant to be together, its…well…its fate. You'll get your chance with Booth, just you watch, he'll come strolling across that sprawling lawn, surrounded by flowers, still in his uniform, coming home to _you_. I promise."


	6. War Zone

**A/N: Okay, so I guess my last chapter was a little lackluster so I sat myself down at the computer and wrote the next chapter. This was incredibly difficult to write, but I love it a lot. Since this is Booth's mission chapter their will be violence and character deaths so be warned. And for those who love the angst I'm happy to tell you the angst has reared its ugly head and is in a total I'm-going-to-die-doing-the-right-thing mode! Enjoy!**

Show me what it's like to dream in black and white,

so I can leave this world tonight.

Full of fear, everclear. Curious, venomous,

You'll find me climbing to heaven.

Nevermind, turn back time.

You'll be fine, I will get left behind.

"Unknown Soldier"- Breaking Benjamin

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Dreams kept him going, kept him from completely losing all sanity. She was always there to save him from the animal that subsided within him. Her touch, her smile; they were the things that kept him fighting….

Booth awoke with a sudden start, his bruised hands gripping the burning handle of his gun. Benjamin had kicked the bottom of his boot roughly, smirking at Booth's displeased face.

"You dream'n about that woman again?" Booth shut his eyes, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her. Nothing.

"Always." He sighed.

"Well," Benjamin took his helmet off his dark, sweat-drenched hair and pulled out a small picture, handing it gingerly over to Booth. "These are the women of my dreams." Three faces radiating with love gleamed happily at Booth, making his stomach churn.

"Wow, Benny they're beautiful."

"Yep, that's my wife and twin four-year old daughters. Ha…imagine having twins at twenty-two, you grow up real fast after that." Booth handled the crinkled photo back. Benjamin wiped the sticky dirt from his tan face, solemn tears reflecting in his green eyes. "It was so hard…to not say goodbye…to just leave…I miss them so much."

"Hey man, you'll see them again. Were gonna get out of this mess and then you'll see your family again." The young father soaked in the comforting words, but doubt continued to gnaw at the back of Booth's thoughts.

Three left standing; a Sniper, a Spotter and a Ranger. They were all that was left. Gaveia was still alive and the three men were at the end of their ropes. The only thing that awaited them was the open arms of death's angels. Time was running out and Booth had to make a decision: die doing nothing or die saving the country. It was the easiest decision of his life.

A cloud of dust billowed upwards as Lieutenant Ruckers jumped into the trench. Lighting a cigarette to quench his restless nerves, the eccentric Ranger whisked his blonde hair out of his eyes and relayed the report.

"The damage form last nights raid was heavy. The guards have left a gap in their defense to take care of the dead, which gives us an opportunity to sneak through and take up station in one of the empty towers. From that position I'll be able to cut down the surrounding guards while you two put a bullet in the bastard's heart."

Benjamin picked himself up off the ground, shouldering his equipment. "Sounds easy enough!"

"Yeah, which can only mean one thing." The soldiers laughed with a vacant interest at the ominous remark, a single red-tinged thought running across their desolate minds.

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Protruding from the dense jungle, the men stalked silently up a small rotund hill, scooping out their entrance point.

"Right there, next to that crumbling wall, is a tear in the wire fence. If you continue straight 200 meters their will be a small unoccupied tower. I'll keep guard at the entrance."

Booth looked at the two men beside him, proud to have met the bravest soldiers enlisted in the American army. "Alright men, lets move out." Taking his position in front, Jeremy raced down the hill and through the opening, followed closely by Booth and Benjamin.

Rounding the corner, a lone guard raised his gun in a fit of surprise and butted Jeremy in the temple knocking him brutally to floor. Before a yell could escape past the sentry lips, Booth had a hand clasped over his mouth and a small knife twisted into the guard's jugular. A gurgle of blood trailed down the man's cheek while Booth shoved him into the shadows.

"You all right Jeremy?" A violet bruise was flowering across the Ranger's face.

"Yeah, let's go." Reaching the tower without any more intrusions, Booth and his Spotter flew up the stairwell, leaving Jeremy to fend for himself.

A large square opening became Booth's set up point. Lying on his stomach, flush with the concrete floor, Booth peered through his scope, training his eye on a group of men marching across a rooftop about 1100meters away. A burgeoning explosion in the distance caught his eye and he swiveled towards the commotion. Seven guards were running straight towards them armed to the teeth in an array of weapons.

"Shit!" Benjamin take your M60 and get down there with Jeremy! I'll try to pick them off before they get to close!" Booth heard the splutter of rounds being fired and the angry shouting of Jeremy as three guards fell to the ground in a heap. Placing his crosshairs over the leading officer, Booth squeezed the trigger, killing three guards in a rapid succession before the officer could fall limply to the ground.

Returning his attention the rooftop, Booth focused on the berets peaking over the short wall. Gaveia was somewhere on that rooftop and he was going to smoke him out. Benjamin returned, placing his scope next to Booth's gun.

"Where are you trained?"

"The rooftop. Tell me how far away those stacked barrels are." Fixing his calculations, Benjamin measured the distance.

"1156meters."

"I'm taking the shot." Positioning his crosshairs over the center gas can, Booth sucked in a breath, releasing it as the bullet fired from the steaming barrel. The sky rained with roaring fire as the men scattered across the roof, looking for a way out of the sudden trap. A heavy man pushed the squawking men violently off the roof, allowing them to fall to their deaths. Through the dust clouds, Booth sighted the gruesome sight. Reloading his gun, he nudged his spotter, "I see him. He's about ten feet from where the gas cans were."

"I see him. 1156meters. Wind speed 7mph. Alignment is accurate. Kill the son of a bitch."

This was it. He was a shot away from finishing a suicide mission; one he thought he would never return from. Yet, here he was, alive, and his dream of returning to Bones a shot away from being fulfilled. Just a shot away. Settling his eye into the viewfinder, Booth locked onto the man who ruined his life—ruined twenty men's lives—breathed in the sweet taste of freedom, and squeezed the trigger with unharnessed vengeance. Watching the vapor trail sear through the crimson sky, Booth released his breath as a spray of blood spewed unevenly from Gaveia's chest.

"Mission complete. Now let's get the hell out of here!" Booth's eyes flicked over to a stampede of vicious, snarling men racing out of the smoking buildings. Shoving their equipment into their knapsacks, the two Rangers raced down the stairwell, the sound of thundering footsteps gaining stride reverberated outside. Grabbing a hold of an elated Jeremy, the men hurried towards the fence.

"It's over guys! I can't believe we did it, it's over…"

Whistling ripped through the downpour of ash, as sharp metal blazing orange heat exploded into a roaring inferno of death. The three men were blown back into the bloody dirt 1000 yards away, pounding a crater into the side of a steep trench. Screams of anguish from the mangled bodies echoed across the valley.

Booth felt all control slipping through his grasp. The racing memories of his loved ones petrified into a single moment of happiness as empty shadows consumed his hallucinations, extinguishing the last flickering spark of life.

Death.

The Reaper, eyes scathing with grim judgment, glided up from the land of the damned, demise reeking from his rotten flesh, and with a definitive swing of his sickle severed the ordained fates of the men.

"Tem…perance."

Tearful eyes flew open with intense vitality. A blistering headache screaming through his body, Booth sucked in the revitalizing air only to choke on the blood bubbling from his gaping mouth. Spluttering, Booth rolled over onto his hands and knees, yelping in pain at the grinding bones pressing in to his skin. The burns across his back and ribcage festered fiercely as the surrounding dirt seeped into them. Booth crawled delicately over to the two other bodies in the crater, grunting as the glinting metal tore at his cargo pants.

Jeremy lay face down, blood seeping through his clothes. Booth rolled him over and checked for a pulse, heartbeat, breathing, but he found no sign of life. Jeremy's wish had been granted, to die an honorable man who served his country proudly.

"Oh, Jeremy…." Booth saluted his fallen comrade with every ounce of dignity and honor that Second Lieutenant Jeremy Ruckers of the Rangers elite had come to deserve.

The faint coughing behind him sent Booth flying to the other man's side. "Benny, you're alive! Holy shit man, you're alive!" Booth's relieved laughter hung in the air. Benjamin sat up, grimacing as the sting of a sliver of metal jolted up his left side.

"Yeah, but who knows for how long."

"What!?" Booth said alarmed. Benjamin lifted his shirt, a jagged piece of metal sticking about three inches out from under his left armpit.

"I think…it nicked my lung." Benjamin's breathing was irregular, strangled with fright. "I'm not going home…my family…" Booth was reeling with grief and total disbelief. Was God trying to play some kind of sick joke on him? What the hell was going on? This wasn't how the mission was supposed to play out. Their fates had been altered by an outsider and he was furious. Jeremy and Benny were meant to get out alive—go home to their families—he was the one meant to be left behind.

"NO! I'm not going to let that happen, you're going home alive! I'll get you out of this mess even if it kills me!" Booth decided he was going to try his hand at playing God, bet his life in an attempt to call the outsiders bluff. The whistling rockets returned, shaking the ground with earth-shattering blasts, blanketing them in sheets of rubble. They were here.

"I'm sorry Buddy!"

"What…"

Booth bent down and picked up Benjamin, throwing him over his shoulders and with a burst of speed dug up the side of the trench. The crying protests from his victim didn't faze him; all he focused on was reaching the enormous jungle. _Safety_. Bullets zipped by him, grazing his cheek and legs, while the puckering dirt camouflaged his retreat. Booth skidded to a halt once he reached the hidden trench. Laying Benjamin on the rough bed, Booth took out his radio and switched it on.

"Lieutenant Booth. Operation Fate complete. One man dead. One in critical. Dispatch medical team to evacuate. 500yards inland." Booth set down the receiver, and began wrapping a bandage around the gash. "Alright their coming. When they call, tell them where you're located and then to send a second helicopter after you've taken off."

Benjamin eyes were flittering closed, his face a ghastly pale. "I'm not going to make it…"

"YES, yes you are! You're going to live because you need to watch your daughters grow up into amazing young women. They need their father."

"Where…you…"

"I'm going back in to get Jeremy. I've known him since we enlisted together and to leave him out there with those savages…well, no man gets left behind."

"Booth…you'll..."

Booth nodded his head, and grabbed a M60 with two extra magazines. "I'll die. I know, but at least I'll be dying doing the right thing." With those last words, Booth sprinted out of the trench and into the enemy's territory.

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Crouching behind a craggy rock, Booth watched as five men surrounded the crater where Jeremy lay. They were yelling in accented curses, pushing each other towards the body to make sure it was dead. One curious soldier straightened out his hand to feel the pulse, but Booth cocked his rifle and shot off the offending hand with a splay of bullets. Violet blood showered the surrounding men, bathing them in hot liquid. Guns leveled at the rock, the guards attempted to shoot the ranger, but instead a wall of bullets hit them as they fell backwards into the trench. Booth dashed over to Jeremy, picked him up carefully and attempted to jump out of the trench as a group of guards crested the hill menacingly behind him.

Booth was running for his life. Pushing as hard as he could to retain the vigor from his younger days, but the loss of blood was draining all his energy. A bitter bullet spliced through his throbbing thigh, sending him tumbling to the ground. His breathing was rugged, involuntary spasms controlling his movements, as he pushed himself over to Jeremy.

"C'mon Booth, Get yourself up!" Booth gritted, but there was nothing left to shed except his tears. It was over.

Her golden fingers reached out, touching his beat up face with warm strength, every spoken word from her delicate voice rejuvenating his broken spirit with a passionate vivacity.

A burst of adrenaline soared through Booth, giving him the feeling of invincibility. He scooped up Jeremy, and rushed into the dense undergrowth. She was right next to him urging him on with every smile until he collapsed listlessly into the soft grass. Sheltering themselves from the enemy's eyes, Booth yanked the nearby brush over him and Jeremy. Booth clasped his heavy lids shut, allowing himself to fall prey to the dangers of unconsciousness. Taking her outstretched hand, Booth followed the angel towards the distant light as the expanding darkness swallowed him whole.


	7. Parting Ways

**A/N: Hello, my name is rubbish89 and I'm an angst whore. There I said it. But I would like to place **_**all**_** blame on watching five seasons of Angel, because lets face it, you really have to develop a taste for the angst when you watch that show. ****:) But you should be happy to know that I'm capable of giving characters happy endings. I would also like to point an accusing finger at my ipod for playing depressing songs without my consent. Tisk tisk. I just thought I should warn you before you read this chapter, cause well, I really don't want my readers jumping through my computer screen and attempting to gouge my eyes out! Hehe, okay well enjoy!**

**A/N: I wanted to give a special thank you to all the reviewers to whom I haven't thanked personally. Thank You! I've been a very busy gal. ;)**

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"Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love." – George Eliot

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Mother earth was weeping. Salty tears cascaded from the jaded heavens, blanketing the tragic scene in a sorrow of mist. Trees shivered under the whipping cries of the wind while grieving moans from the white doves mingled with the dry, amber leaves drifting over the ebony coffin.

Brennan tightened her thick coat over her frozen body, blue eyes moist and weary, a worn letter clutched between her manicured fingers. The priest's poignant words drifted by her, warming her cheeks, but she couldn't grasp the magnitude of their meaning. He was gone. Dead. Resting in that box. All her dreams, hopes ripped away by the terse, meaningless words of the man responsible for placing them in this situation.

_Walking resolutely into her office, Brennan halted when she was met by the outstretched hand of the President. Papers fluttered to the floor in a heap, her fear escalading, "Where is he!"_

"_Dr. Brennan, Lieutenant Booth completed the mission, but was unable to make it out alive. He died bravely serving his country. We offer our deepest condolences for this saddening outcome." President Howell placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Brennan felt the gentle warmth of his touch seep through her clothes—angered—she released all of her pent up fury. _

_A slap resounded through the lab as Brennan leaped up, hands waving around uncontrollably, fending off the confused security. President Howell's face blistered red, the outline of a hand etched into his wrinkled skin._

"_Who the hell do you think you are, huh!? You can't just come in here, say you're sorry and then hope everything will be all right!" Brennan was screaming at the top of her lungs, the caged beast looking to tear out the throats of her captors. "You're lying! He's not dead! I would know if he was dead! Damnit, show me the body and I'll prove to you it's not him! I will…he's…!" Brennan's head was buzzing, small lights exploding in front of her eyes as she fainted in a heap. Fast hands caught her before she hit the floor, a breathless statement passing her white lips, "He's not dead…" _

Stepping forward from the sobbing crowd, Brennan traced her hands across the smooth lid smothered in sodden flowers. What she would give to open that lid, check the body and rid herself of the inkling of hope sleeping in the back of her mind. So many times she had tried to sneak into the morgue, so much that she was issued a restraining order from the coroner. _The man was a snob anyway_. The Military's story didn't add up, it was too intricate for her taste, but she couldn't keep holding on to something that wasn't true. She had to learn how to let go; to move on with her life.

Ending the eulogy with a moving amen, the priest wandered off, the crowd falling in step behind him. Angela walked up to Brennan and whispered into her ear, "We're going inside sweetie. I'll leave you two alone…to say goodbye." Angela squeezed Brennan's elbow and turned around, seeking comfort from Hodgins.

Pastel colors filtered through the darkening sky as the mourning sun began to set. The throbbing rain and wind picked up, encircling Brennan in an icy blanket of frost. Hours had passed and she hadn't moved from her position. Her weeping body draped over the coffin, tears rolling over the shining tarnish, the love letter flapping in her hands. "You really were saying goodbye Booth," Brennan whispered weakly. "I guess it's my turn now." She took in a refreshing breath, ready to spill her secrets to the man who owned her heart.

"You were incredibly annoying when I first met you. I remember complaining to Angela that I hated your guts, that were pig-headed and obnoxious and I never wanted to see you again. Well, now I'm here crying my eyes out and letting my emotions do the talking because I fell in love with that gorgeous, cocky, FBI agent. To say I was happy before I met you would be a lie. I was a …walking skeleton … as you would put it; doing the same monotonous routine: living _on_ the earth, never _in_ it. That all changed after you became my partner, my friend.

Being wrapped up in your comforting arms is the greatest feeling I've ever experienced. Knowing that you cared about me and my whacked out emotions gave me the strength to pick myself up after a rough fall, to continue my journey knowing you were right behind me every step of the way. And when you touched me," Brennan shivered involuntarily at the thought. "It felt like raging lava coursing through my veins, like I'd been set on fire and the only way to smother the growing flames was to leave the room. Every time, every single time, I had to fight away the urge to run back in and take you for myself, to kiss you like there was no tomorrow."

Brennan couldn't hold back any longer, the desire to scream was boiling inside, ready to erupt. "WHY!? Why would _your_ God take you away from me! He's supposed to set things right, he was supposed to bring you home to me!" Brennan's face was lifted towards the sky, the swelling clouds bursting forth floods of rain with each menacing crack of thunder.

"It's you Booth! You're the man who makes me want to live every moment like it's my last. You're the one who's shown me the world, every exciting adventure that's out there waiting for me! You're the one who's shown me how to connect, how to feel, to love! How am I supposed to carry on and find happiness when the only man who's capable of giving that to me is gone!?"

Brennan sank to the soaking grass, her chest pulsating wildly as the breathing fire within her finally died away. "I'm completely lost without you …" Folding the letter along the worn creases, Brennan placed it tenderly under a bouquet of beautiful flowers.

"I'll live life for the both of us Booth. I'll find a way to carry on and let go because that's what you asked me to do." Bending down Brennan kissed the drenched coffin with loving softness.

"I'm in love with you Booth. The "profound, intimate, your-my-soul-mate kind of love" and if believing in heaven is the only way for me to show you how that love makes me feel than you can consider that seat taken."

Cold and alone, Brennan walked quietly through the shower of dried leaves and pounding rain, hair whipping across her face when a sudden tug on her heart made her swivel around, a spark of joy lighting in her harmonious voice. "Goodbye isn't forever Booth! We'll meet again whether it be in this life or the next."

The golden sky melted into a bright, star-littered night, forever preserving the remnants of hope left behind in the fading goodbye of the two parting lovers.

**Has the angst gotten to you, are you writhing in your seat, gritting your teeth in anger, on the verge of gouging out my eyes, well than calm down and reflect on these two words and you'll think twice about that anger: "context clues." **


	8. Hysteria

**A/N: Yaaaa it's bonesday! Here's a present! I feel so bad that I left you hanging with that last chapter. Sorry! For those who have made it this far, I applaud you. '****claps'**** I really do owe you a major thank you because this story is quite the Debbie Downer. But don't worry; good things come to those who wait. :) So hang tight, pretty please!!! Time for you to enjoy some weirdness, so read on!**

Streaming rays of afternoon sun highlighted the sheltered, bustling street. Buildings towered overhead like mighty Gods, enclosing the energetic neighborhood. Bumping past a chattering couple, Booth whistled an exuberant tune, a light bounce in his easy gait.

Ever the returning hero, his bag swinging with every beat, uniform starched and glittering with medals, Booth rounded the tight corner and waved affectionately at the wiry grocer.

"Afternoon Mr. Gary!"

"Ah Booth, so glad to see you've returned. When you get the chance I could use a hand moving these crates."

"Sure thing Mr. Gary!" Booth finished his walk, halting at the crosswalk, eyes fixed on the diner across the street. The aroma of freshly baked cherry pie drifted through the open door.

There she stood, bathed in the beauty of life, waving gracefully at the passing cars. It was as if the world had ceased—everything in slow motion—with each sparkle of laughter. Booth puffed out his chest and attempted to step forward, but his polished boots had sunk into the concrete.

Her name was called, thick with lust, and she twirled around to meet the man sidling up to her. Clenching his jaw in anger, Booth watched as she jumped into the man's open arms and groan with pleasure as the man ravaged her body with filthy kisses.

Breaking from the concrete's stronghold, Booth charged toward the man blatantly raping the woman he loved. A scream of fury exploded from his throat, but only a choked whisper slipped past his lips. Once again he found himself struggling against the street's binding torture.

The glare he received from the pair pierced his entire body. The greasy, black-eyed man forced the woman closer to his body as she quipped in feigned interest. "I've moved on Booth, something I found extremely easy to do."

The man holding her gave him a devilish grin. "Come on Booth, do you really think a woman like Bones could ever love you. You can't give her what she _really_ needs. You're a murderer and that's all you'll ever be. There's no gray area when it comes to killing someone." Laughing with crazed menace, the pair sauntered off into the crowd of angry pedestrians, leaving a broken Booth in their wake. Everyone was walking toward him, fists waving violently in the air, obscenities bouncing off the brick walls.

He tried to run. He couldn't move or yell as they closed in around him. A bright, red convertible blazed toward him, horn blaring with deafening reckoning. The large driver cackled with sweet revenge, a bleeding hole through his heart as Booth threw up his arms in self-defense…

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Brown eyes fluttering open, Booth found himself staring into blinding lights hanging overhead. Looking around he determined he was lying on a turquoise dentist chair, leather straps securing his arms and legs. His mouth was held open by a metal rod, cotton balls parching his throat and lips. A snap of a rubber glove reverberated through the blank, white room causing him to panic, eyes searching for the intruder. A man donning a floor length lab coat wheeled out from behind him, a face mask hiding his identity. Grabbing a sharp, metal tool from the sterile tray, the dentist fixed the light so it shone into Booth's open mouth.

Now, let's see what your problem is today." The man dug around inside, grunting with dissatisfaction. "That's not good. Nope not good at all." Leaning back, the man took off his mask and shook his head. "My name's Dr. Wyatt and I've had the pleasure of working with you before Booth."

Booth gulped with relief at the sight of his friend who began to unbind him from his restraints. "Tell me Booth, what are you afraid of? Think about it, what are you afraid of?"

The rod no longer restricting his speech, Booth mumbled his answer, but the words never found their way out of his mouth.

"Sorry Booth, that's the wrong answer. I'll give you one more chance. Now, what are you afraid of?"

Nervous sweat puckering across his forehead, Booth found himself unable to form an answer out of his jumbled thoughts. Shaking his head with frustration, Booth pleaded with the Doctor, who only hung his head in shame.

"Alright Booth, this was your choice not mine."

An orange lever was pulled and Booth felt the leather chair shift under him, turning downwards. Peeking over his boots, Booth went numb with fright. The chair was resting on a steep ledge and he was dangerously close to slipping into the murky emptiness that gathered below.

"Goodbye Booth and good luck finding your future!"

With a hefty shove, Booth was sent flying into the mouth of the abyss, sallow lights flickering on around him, revealing thousands of damaged clocks. A distant, eerie ticking mumbled soothingly to him, calling him to his possible future. Urgency scorched his mind as he groped urgently at the clocks flying by him—all broken. _Come on where are you! _A tiny olive-shaped clock smacked soundly across his head and Booth lurched around to grasp the offending object, cradling the small beating future. _Yes! Yes!_

The ticking stopped. The lull of the lights faded away, replaced by a dusky fog creeping out of the cracks in the wall. Freezing wind whistled past Booth as long thorny branches clawed at his face, large gashes torn out of his flesh. The dead clock resting in his limp hand evaporated into blinding specks of dust, disappearing into the stony walls of the abyss. Booth plummeted downwards, gathering speed as he hit the muddy floor with a ghastly thud…

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Suffocation; every breath was an intake of oxygen-deprived dust. Water sprung from Booth's eyes, leaving a streak of pale skin, while he lifted his hands and scrapped at the claustrophobic wooden box holding him. Blood bubbled from beneath his fingernails and bruised knuckles as he pounded violently against the wood slates. Booth felt the life in him slipping away, eyes closing heavily with exhausted rest. A muffled clanking above reached his ears and he perked up with hope. A shovel smacked against the lid, which was pried off, exposing the four drained diggers leaning over the top of him.

_Bones! Thank God! Ange, Hodgins, Zack, you're all here! Thank God!_

"Sorry Sweetie, it looks like there's nothing left but a pile of bones."

_What? No, I'm right here guys! Wait, don't leave me!_

"You're right, there's nothing left to him. He's just a shell now."

_No! Please…I swear there's more to me, I'm still Booth! Don't leave me…_

"Come on, let's bury it and get out of here."

Dropping the lid over him, Booth sobbed hysterically as the sound of nails being pounded into the lid echoed through the small coffin. Attempting to breath, Booth choked on the dust as it filled his lungs, twinkling lights bursting in his vision, a sudden pain ravaging his shaking body…

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"OH GOD! MAKE IT STOP!" Blazing agony burned through his veins, ravaging his body in a horrific frenzy. "IT HURTS! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" Eyes rolling with hysteria, Booth screamed at the approaching distorted figures, body convulsing against the leather straps holding him down.

_Doctor, he's awake!_

_Morphine drip and the strongest sedative we have, quick!_

Floating, white angels flew around him in a blurry haste, passing around glowing bottles of liquid. A stinging pain thudded into Booth's neck; his muscles stiffening, Booth laughed bitterly as a hazy joy coursed through his body. Eyes fighting to close, Booth suppressed a grin as dreamy hallucinations arrived to torment him once more.

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A cool breeze tickled Booth's cheeks, begging him to open his eyes. Cloudy, confused images appeared around him and he squinted at the body wheeling towards him, but he was unable to identify the person.

"I didn't believe it. When they said you had woken up I had to come see for myself," The man reached over and squeezed Booth's shoulder. Well, now, jeez man, I can't believe it."

"Benjamin? Are you real…" Booth croaked out hoarsely, searching the man's jumbled face for something familiar.

"Yeah, and I'm alive and back home with my family because of you. I owe you my life Booth, thank you. I'll do everything possible to help you get better, I promise. No man left behind right?"

"Where…"

Benjamin looked around at the silent, pristine room filled with sterile equipment, taken aback by the air of loneliness solidified into the blank walls. "Well, your about ten miles off the coast of D.C., in a secret military institute for the mentally ill."

Booth had trouble focusing on the man's words, the rhythmic drip of morphine capturing his wholehearted attention.

"Booth?"

"How long?"

"About a year since the funeral." Booth reached over and grabbed Benjamin's hand, questioning his words eagerly.

"Funeral!?"

Benjamin looked down with sympathetic sadness. "The…president thought that due to your current state it would be best for you and your family, friends to…to have you declared dead."

Booth felt as if he'd just been sucker punched, the air pushed out of his lungs in one swift motion. "What!?"

"All the doctors, the medical physicians said that it would take a miracle for you to come out of your hysteria. They thought it would be best if you were declared dead, therefore they could care for you in the most prestigious institute and your family could carry on with their lives, but you woke up Booth."

Panic invaded his mind, speeding his heart to an unhealthy level. He'd been in hysteria for over a year, the memories of the bloody operation, and the thought of Bones moving on—all leading to a surging anxiety attack. His voice cracked, animal-like whimpers passing his sore lips, the nervous stuttering filtering through the open window, "I'm dead. They think…I'm…dead?"

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**A/N: I hope the chapter wasn't to confusing! Sorry! Now chant with me, Booth's not dead! Booth's not dead! Booth's not dead! There, is everyone feeling better!**


	9. Unable to Heal

**A/N: First of all, 100 reviews! I'm seriously freaking out that my story is worthy of reaching that many reviews. When I first posted the story I was expecting the usual, you know, five measly "good job" reviews, but no, you all proved me wrong and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to review my story. And, because of your reviews my story has stretched from a three chapter sob story to a definite novel! ;) Experiment time: if you actually read these put the word insane in your review, hehe, don't ask, it was just the first word that popped into my head. Weird, I know. Enjoy!**

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These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase

-"My immortal" Evanescence

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Burning rays melted through the tall oak trees, a mix of dark and light painting the cemetery with silent wistfulness. Booth stood lazily in front of two whitehead stones, hands jammed into the pockets of his faded jeans. A numb nostalgia washed over him as he read the two names imprinted into the smooth stone for the hundredth time. _Jeremy Ruckers and Seeley Booth, killed in action_.

His skin crawled, shivering with every distant noise, but his body burned feverishly, sweat glistening on his skin. He was in that coffin, buried beneath six feet of thick dirt. Every exhausted endeavor at feeling any amount of pure emotion, of being human, was wasted away, the draining attempts propelling him farther into his depression. No tears would fall, no laugh would spring from his open mouth, no anger emerge from within—he had nothing, everything lost in his scramble to cheat fate.

A nagging beep whispered it's condolences to the summer breeze as Booth clicked a button on his watch, the time sneering with disgust at him. _Stop! _Booth stripped off the offending device and shoved it into his pocket. He released a sigh of shame, taken back by his actions towards a minor delusion. "I'm losing it." Booth straightened his shirt and sauntered off to meet the limo pulling into the parking lot a few yards away.

President Howell stepped out of the secure, black vehicle and lifted a hand to meet the Ranger in a friendly handshake. Booth waded through the posse of guards and took the firm hand reluctantly.

"I never expected this moment to happen Agent Booth. It is an absolute pleasure to see you back home and walking among the living."

The jovial words hit Booth like a bullet, cutting through the demoralized shield that protected his weak, nonexistent life. _There's nothing left_. His lips quivered, head bowing with restrained animosity, "Thank you Mr. President, but it's just Booth."

"Oh, I expected that you would continue to work for the FBI. One of the highest positions has been cleared and is waiting for you." Booth's mind fizzed with abandoned control, words and images popping and scattering in a rollercoaster of confused thoughts. Latching onto the president's droning voice with a frazzled death grip, Booth pigeon-holed his attention to focus on their meaning. "I have your death certificate here. If you sign along this line, we can clear up this mess and get you back home to your family in a proper fashion. We could hold a ceremony; honor your bravery with…"

"I can't. This isn't…I can't do this." He stepped back, shaking his head absently, panic seizing his thumping heart.

"I don't understand?"

"There's no way I can go back…home. To act like nothing is wrong, like nothing's changed would be living a lie. They think I'm dead. They've moved on and that is how it will stay. I will not sign those papers nor while I take that job, Sir. Everything I've done, that I've seen has made me a liability and a danger to them as well as myself. I won't go back home and ruin the lives of everyone I love."

"I can't believe this. What will you do?"

"Leave. Please. Mr. President, don't make this harder than it already is. No one must ever know I came back. Please." Booth begged hoarsely, a faint spark of emotion breaking through a crack in the shield.

"Alright Booth, You requests will be followed. I just hope you know what you're doing."

Booth took the President's hand once more, shaking it with affirmed admiration, "Thank you, thank you so much! I was wondering if you happened to have my old resignation papers?"

The President turned around and grasped a portfolio from one of his guards. "Here you are Booth, it's yours to keep. Now is their anything more I could do for you, would you like a ride home to your apartment?"

"No thanks, I think you've done enough." Turning on his heel, booth jogged off into the waning light, leaving a perplexed president in his wake.

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Night and its loathing darkness had come too soon. Booth shriveled under the buffets of icy wind, huddling behind a metal trashcan. Grubbing around in his coat, he clung to his gold, military lighter and flicked it on, about to set the trash on fire when her smiling face suddenly appeared in the faint light. Reaching down, Booth picked up a fluttering newspaper, jaw dropping in skepticism as he read the headline.

"**From pen and paper to real life renowned author has new man; has she finally found her real life Andy?"**

A handsome, dark-haired man had his arm wrapped around her waist as they posed for a picture at a party for the Jeffersonian Institute. Booth tossed the newspaper into the trashcan, dumping a burning portfolio into the can as well. A tornado of fire hissed angrily upwards, gulping down the fuel with hasty swallows. A weight had been lifted off of his shoulders as he watched his past crumble slowly into a pile of black ash, but he couldn't let go. He felt bound, trapped in the past with no where to go but a lonely hole six feet deep. Life had played its evil tricks on him and now he was wandering between reality and illusion, stuck with a mind full of doubts and dangerous delusions.

Booth kicked the park bench with frustration, the fury and grief he knew he should be feeling would not emerge. He only had the cathartic act of inflicting pain to numb his depression. Pummeling the wood bench with violent punches Booth howled with hollow bitterness, blood trickling from his fingers.

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Angela watched with enticing interest as her friend hustled through the entrance door screaming bloody murder at the man trailing behind her. Ducking her head, Angela giggled slightly as a slap snapped through the open room, the man hissing madly at the minor attack.

He deserved it. Angela had been counting down the days, waiting for the moment when Brennan would finally go berserk on her boyfriend Liam. He was tall, dark-haired, cocky and was once the replacement for her new partner. It was obvious why she had agreed to date him and yet, no one had expected the kind of man he would turn out to be.

The whole lab had been on pins and needles today; Angela had made sure everyone had received notification of today's significance, but she must have forgotten Liam. Angela sidled up to the feuding pair, their heated shouting creating a heat wave capable of burning anyone who came to close.

"I'm tired of being treated like some piece-of-shit, second rate boyfriend!"

"By the way you behave it's hard to tell the difference!" Brennan felt like ripping the egotistical head off the idiot bellowing in front of her. All of her fuses had been lit the second she had woken up today and one tiny mistake would set her off like raging bottle rocket. It just happened to be him.

Angela forced herself between the butting heads of the couple, her calm voice attempting to halt the tirade. "Listen Liam, I don't think today is really such a…"

"Would you shut your goddamn trap and stay the hell out of other people's business!"

Angela was about ready to give the man her own beating, but clocking Brennan's outrage made her think twice, so she scooted behind her huffing friend and grinned with evil delight at the pending ass-kicking. "Oh, you are so going to be hurting tomorrow morning…"

"Listen Bones…" Liam spat out, mocking sarcasm wrapped around every syllable. "When I tell you to do something you obey me! You get no say in the matter. Nothing! I don't give a fuck what you and Booth used to do, you got that woman! He's gone, he ain't coming back. You're with me now so it's time you treat me like a real man rather than that lousy ass Booth just because you're still hung up on the dead man! Get over it already!"

An unidentifiable squeal of absolute torture ruptured across the lab as Brennan slammed her pointed heel into the roaring male's crotch. She had released the caged, snarling monster and now it was looking to feed on the revolting man shriveled below her. Brennan landed a thundering punch into the jaw of the writhing man, sending him sprawling across the slick tile.

Liam, holding his bruised jaw, flew to his feet and dashed across the room towards the combative woman. Twirling on her foot, Brennan sent a speeding heel into his gut causing him to tumble backwards, nose cracking against the tile. Brennan yanked Liam up by the ear, reprimanding him viciously as she dragged him to the exit.

"First: NO one tells my best friend to shut up! Second: you deserve to be treated like a ridiculous, useless nobody! Third: Booth is more a man than you could ever hope to be in this lifetime and lastly, I never want to hear his beautiful name pass your filthy lips again! Now stay the hell out of my lab!"

Brennan kicked Liam in the ass, where he found himself soaring down the concrete steps in a jumbled tumble, thudding heavily into the lush grass. Angela, Hodgins and Zack skidded up to their furious friend's side, faces etched with utter shock.

"Sweetie! You are _so_ going to jail!" Angela gasped with stunned mirth.

"Baby, _that_ was HOT!" Hodgins slapped Zack on the back, excitement bubbling from his body.

"Oh, oh my…I have to go!" Brennan stuttered on her words, astonished by her attack. Racing down the steps, she leaped over the moaning man and took off across the sheered lawn, heart pounding as she attempted to leave the bewildered mess behind.

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She needed comfort and the worn key resting in her smooth hand could offer her everything she craved—except one. Jamming the key into the lock, Brennan hurtled into the quiet, desolate apartment and flicked on a small lamp.

Everything was exactly the way he had left it; nothing moved, nothing touched. Brennan ran her fingers across the dusty photographs hanging in the hallway, smiling faintly at some of his goofy poses. Opening the bedroom door, Brennan stepped into his calming lair, the intoxicating scent causing her emotions to go into overdrive. Tears streaking her face, Brennan wandered over to his closet, stepping gingerly over the broken glass splayed across the carpet.

The black, somber suits hung from the rack with a dismal air. All his vibrant, silly ties folded neatly on a shelf, organized by color scheme. Laughing brightly at his meticulous organization, Brennan grabbed the bright red tie lying in the corner—her favorite—and placed it around her neck. Rubbing the smooth material with loving care, Brennan took a handful of ties and threw them on the bed, along with his expensive suits and pressed shirts.

Throwing herself into the pile of clothes, Brennan let the exhilarating feel and scent of his clothes transport her into the vivid memories of their days as partners and friends. His voice, his touch invaded her senses and she giggled happily at the remembrance of his stupid jokes. How he always made her laugh with that cocky smirk and the glitter in his eyes when they ate cherry pie after each case. Closing her eyes, Brennan allowed the dreamy memories to lull her into a relaxing sleep; the feeling of loneliness finally lost in the seams of reality after arriving unwelcome three years before—on the day he vanished.


	10. Finding Life

**A/N: Soooo sorry that I haven't updated in awhile. Real life has been very stressful and there have been a few family emergencies. Thanks to all for sticking around and being patient. Please do enjoy!**

You may need me there  
To carry all your weight  
But you're no burden I assure  
You tide me over  
With a warmth I'll not forget  
But I can only give you love

-"Ever the same" Rob Thomas

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Stepping through his apartment door, Booth stretched his sore muscles, the ache of walking all night overtaking the pain of his bruised knuckles. Noticing the glow of his hall lamp, the tired man wandered curiously towards the object, taking in the warmth of his home. A shadow lay strewn across the white carpet, his bedroom door ajar. Booth peeked into the room, a gasp of surprise breaking the stiff air.

Splatters of color haloed her sleeping form, her arms twisted around an expensive, tearstained suit. Waning glow from the full moon sifted past the wood shutters, lighting the scene in a gloomy white.

Booth stumbled forward, falling on his knees, her shallow breathing drawing him closer. He was hooked. Her scent driving him crazy with lust, the shine of her smooth skin blinding all thought into a distant emptiness. Clamping his wavering mouth shut, Booth edged backwards, his back one with the wall, as far away as possible.

Suppressing the gathering urge to hold her, to love her, Booth shoved his head into the trembling, confused hands of a lost man. Grinding his teeth, Booth angrily wished for his conscious to reappear so a fate of cataclysmic proportions would not be shattered by a voiceless beat of a selfish desire. His head not his heart was meant to decide the road traveled.

A whimper caught Booth's attention and he cinched forward on his hands and knees, a cautious worry in his movement. Brennan fidgeted in the nest of crumpled clothing, her pale, icy fingers gripping the red tie hanging limp from her neck.

The whimpers climaxed into high-pitched wails. Kicking and punching as she fought off her nighttime terror, Brennan's ashen cheeks became drenched in cold tears as Booth pulled her up out of the bundle of clothes. Booth pressed her squirming body flush against his, his urgent voice stealing her attention, the frightening hysteria forgotten in the mysterious crevices of her dream.

Gently falling to the floor, Booth cradled the sobbing woman, his hands drawing comforting circles across her back, her pajama's damp with sweat.

"Bones…hey…are you alright…"

_Bones. My god_. Halting all movement, Brennan clung to the enigmatic man in silence, unable to break from her shocked trance.

"Bones…"

Gulping audibly, Brennan slowly let go of his warm body and gradually backed away from his shoulder and into his view. Blue met brown. Buried sparks of sexual desire resurfaced as shaking lips formed hollow words. She couldn't breath. The weight of his gleaming, brilliant eyes piercing her soul swept her out of reality and into the eternal hallway of doors leading to thousands of fabricated dreams. This was one of those doors. One more lie. One more attempt at making her miserable.

Eyes still searching his unblinking ones for an answer, Brennan brushed her fingers over his face making him quiver.

Yet, when she touched him he didn't vanish, he didn't fade away into the scenery as if he'd never been. She could feel his hot breath, taste his fervor, see the life in his black eyes; this was real.

"You're alive…" Her lips lurched forward, driven by an inescapable passion. Instead of meeting her delight, Booth tore himself out of her hold and scooted backwards into the shadowed corner.

Bathed in the dull white moonlight, Brennan cocked her head to the side, sitting in dumbfounded silence. "What…Why…"

Pacing along an invisible line, Booth struggled to answer her questions. "This can't happen. Us. I can't let it happen."

Angry and confused, Brennan stood up, hands settled on her hips, eyes holding back an ocean of misery. "What are you talking about Booth?"

Stumbling for a momentary second at the sound of his name, he continued his nervous tirade. "Bones, you've moved on. You're with Liam now and…"

"That's not…"

"Stop. Let me finish. I don't fit into your life anymore Bones and to expect you to just start over because I'm back…I just…it's a lie." Brennan could hardly comprehend what Booth was telling her.

"Booth stop…"

"No! When I left that night Bones that goodbye…it was meant to be forever. I was _supposed_ to die, but instead I somehow escaped that fate and now I'm being punished for my sins."

Brennan stared at Booth incredulously. "Punished?"

Booth grabbed at his head, the aching buzz in his ears causing trails of stinging droplets to leave behind red streaks across his skin. "My mind Bones! I'm losing my fucking mind; I'm going crazy trying to cling to any ounce of sanity that's left! I can't think anymore and it hurts…my god it hurts! It's torture Bones and I have to live with it because I'm a goddamn murderer!"

Rushing over to Booth, Brennan placed her hands on his cheeks, attempting to calm him. "Booth you're not a murderer! This country asked you to kill people. It wasn't your choice it was your duty as a soldier!" Eyes wide, Booth shook his head dubiously, backing out of her reach and toward the doorway.

"You said yourself Bones that there is no gray area when it comes to killing people—innocent or not! Why should you look upon me any different than the rest of the murderers out there, I don't deserve your sympathy!" Booth relaxed his body and looked disgracefully at the upset love-of-his-life standing absently in front of him. He was going to tell her the biggest lie to ever pass his lips; one that would severe all hope. "I wish I could take back everything that happened between us that night. Everything." He said it. The stunned look on her face was killing him, tearing him to pieces, but she would understand soon enough that what he was doing was for her benefit. He was putting them on the right path, the right future. Booth turned away from her, incapable of meeting her gaze and walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. "Goodbye."

He was leaving her; abandoning her once more. The rage of having her heart broken by this man left her in a shattered mess like the broken glass of the mirror lying dead on the floor. Brennan sprinted towards Booth, yanking his arm around so he was facing her. His eyes were still glued to floor and she had to push his chin up so she could see what he truly felt. His eyes were the gateway to his emotions, but all she saw was black.

"Take it back Booth. You don't mean it; I know you don't mean it!"

"Yes I do."

Brennan shoved her finger into his chest, pushing him against the wall, the small lamp rocking under the pressure. "How dare you say that you regret what happened between us! How dare you rip away the one thing that has kept me going these past three years! The only thing that's given me hope! Why won't you look at me!?" Booth squeezed out of her restraint once more and tried to walk towards the front door, but Brennan intercepted his attempt.

"Damnit Bones, I'm stuck in the past! I can't move on, there's no future with me! Why don't you understand that!?" The angry pair was on the verge of losing all control. Their faces centimeters apart, hands running up and down each other trembling arms, eyes closed against the waves of desire riding on their ragged breathing.

"Booth, don't think about the consequences. Just show me that you feel something…anything."

"I've forgotten how to feel."

"Than let me help you remember."

Lips colliding with his, Brennan gave way to the bursting flood of yearning that had been drowning her, drinking him in as if she'd die without his taste. She was all over him; an aggressive fervor she'd never been privy to dictating her every move. Lips, jaw, neck, her assertive kisses claimed every inch of his face, while her dancing hands roved hungrily under his shirt, ripping the offending article off his chest.

Lifting her head, Brennan groaned with pleasure as Booth peppered her neck with heated kisses. Picking her up in his bare arms and kicking off his shoes, Booth carried the smiling woman into the bedroom, her eyes clouded over with lust. Falling onto the bed, the pair laughed with passionate glee as the shirts billowed around them, encircling them in a cloud of black and white.

Tugging off the rest the clothing, Brennan noticed the life returning to Booth's eyes, the gleam of love eclipsing the dark becoming something she could no longer resist. Tired of years of emotional and physical distance and with body's openly begging for each other, Booth pulled the pleading woman to him, finally uniting the restless pair in a burst of elated ecstasy.

She was his antidote; his relief from the poison that had seeped deep within his body and soul. Layers of pain, death, rejection, stripped away with every healing touch. He could feel his sanity returning with every kiss and he thanked her by giving himself to her, by satisfying their longing and loneliness through his passionate loving. Together they were alive, together they were capable of love, but Booth knew the minute they were apart his punishment would seek vengeance for disobeying the chosen fate and incur its wrath on the lives of the two lovers.


	11. Broken Pieces

**A/N: Matchbox 20 is my all time favorite band and Rob Thomas's voice is to die for, but enough of that. I recommend you listen to this song because it reminds me so much of where my characters are at at this moment! I'm not sure if everyone has figured out what is wrong with Booth so I'll tell you. Booth is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and this story is my take on this life-altering and incredibly difficult disorder. Please Enjoy!**

If I fall along the way  
Pick me up and dust me off  
And if I get too tired to make it  
Be my breath so I can walk

If I need some other love  
Give me more than I can stand  
And when my smile gets old and faded  
Wait around I'll smile again

Shouldn't be so complicated  
Just hold me and then  
Just hold me again

Can you help me I'm bent  
I'm so scared that I'll never  
Get put back together

-"Bent" Matchbox 20

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A crushing pressure forced itself on his chest, squeezing out a yelp of pain from his deflated lungs. Booth fell out of bed, the room spinning in a kaleidoscope of murky colors as he struggled across the broken glass towards the small bathroom. A slick trail of blood was smeared across the tile floor, his hands throbbing at every penetrating gash.

Demons laughing with haunting mercy flashed across the cracked the mirror, their gleaming teeth making enticing patterns on the wall where Booth rested. He couldn't hide from them anymore. He didn't have the strength to fight back and now they were hear to punish him.

The shadows floated across his body, tightening their grip on his sanity, their attempts at pulling him away from his humanity receiving no restraint. A light was flicked on and the bearers of darkness scattered into crevices of Booth's mind away from the obstructing glow of life.

"Booth!?" Brennan faltered in the doorway, a flush of panic coloring her skin. Booth hung his head, the energy draining out his eyes as he stared at his shaking, bloody hands. Lifting his dizzy view to the bright woman standing before him, Booth breathed out a begging sob, his hands reaching towards her warmth, "Help me…"

Brennan broke from her trance and floated into Booth's outstretched arms. Pulling his limp head into her lap, Brennan cradled his cold body, salty tears mingling with her loving whispers as she caressed his face. "Booth…what's wrong?"

"I don't know who I am anymore." Shuddering at the clawing agony in his head, Booth pressed his hands together, the flow of blood stubbornly resisting his attempt at halting the burning liquid. Wrapping her hands around his Brennan placed them against her chest, the thud of her heart vibrating through his body.

"Your name is Seeley Booth, you're the top FBI agent in D.C and you're my partner, friend…"

Booth sat up, his nervous glare stopping her answer. He shook his head, mumbling with unorganized control, the words spilling from his trembling lips. "Bones, I don't know who _Booth_ is anymore! It's just a name; there is nothing behind it because there is nothing left of me! I feel like I died on that mission and what came back is a broken body with no future!" Booth returned to his feet, his hands clasping his head, the empty tears falling from his black eyes. Sighs of distress blanketed the suffering pair as Booth sat down on the edge of the bathtub, the blood returning to its mocking flow. Booth looked at Brennan's aching face, his shameful voice cracking at her emotion. "I'm not the same man Bones. How are you supposed to lo…care for someone who can't remember what it's like to live?"

Brennan slid over to Booth, her hands reaching cautiously across his chest, smoothing over the pink scars etched into his sweaty body. She gently pushed her lips to his, the taste of his pain vanishing with her sweet touch. Kissing his forehead with delicate complexity, Brennan felt him shudder with absolute calm, the shame and denial melting away. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Brennan pulled him into a soft embrace, her breath falling across his back. Closing her eyes, Brennan let her emotions voice her thoughts, "God, I love _this_ man."

A small, silky laugh rumbled through the bathroom, turning into pure rapture as it reached Brennan's ears. "I thought you didn't believe in God?"

Pulling him tighter, Brennan soaked in his presence, his touch, his warmth. He had returned and was more alive to her than ever before. Her contented whisper flowed through Booth's soul, frightening the demons lurking in his defenseless mind. "I do now."

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**A/N: Ahh, they so need each other. :) Okay, so I'm just going to come out and admit that I'm a little sketchy on where this story is going. I have an outline of where I could go with it, but since this story is being written for you I'd love to know what some of your ideas are. Keep in mind that I want to stick with the angst and romance not fluff or rainbows and puppies. I flove me some fluff but not sure it would work with this type of story. Thanks :)**


	12. Escapade full of reasons

**A/N: A BIG thank you to all those you stuck around and reviewed. I appreciate it! I'm also happy to know that everyone is on board with where my story is going, makes everything a lot easier for me. :) Here's a long chapter for making you wait for a long time! Enjoy!**

His world had been turned upside down; a rollercoaster of 180° turns with no beginning and no end in sight, but a guiding light had managed to disrupt the internal, chaotic struggle into a fit of borderline qualms that edged out the darkness—making room for a possible future. She had become his reason; his one reason to fight the absolute pending fall down the engulfing spiral of the insane. He had his reason.

Opening his eyes, his vision slanted in a sleepy haze, Booth slid his head off the edge of the bathtub and scooted his stiff body upright—his visage fixed. Cranking his head around to stretch the muscles, Booth soon discovered that Brennan was huddled in a ball next to his side, her head and arms draped across his chest.

Streaks of dried blood lay strewn across the tile, the dark red seeping deep into the cracks—unevenly haloed by jagged glass. His face reflected hauntingly back at him, the splattered shine of the light in the glass making his stomach churn uncomfortably. He had to get away.

"Bones, hey. I think it's time we got out of the bathroom." Booth dug around in his pant pocket for the distasteful watch, the glowing numbers ratcheting his heartbeat. "Yeah, I think I …need to get away…the blood and…"

Brennan sat up quickly, keenly aware of the loud thud against her ear. "Booth?"

"I'm fine Bones; I just had a…you know what how about we get something to eat…away from the apartment. I'm starving!" Booth grabbed Brennan's outstretched hand and helped her up, brushing off the bits of glass clinging to her clothes.

Realizing he was closing himself off from exuding any extreme emotion, all she could do was go along with his wishes and hope to break down his walls over pancakes. "Alright, alright." She giggled slightly as Booth twirled her out of the bathroom and into the bright room, both landing backwards on the messy bed. "You know we'll have to clean up that glass some time; preferably before we lose our feet to infection. Do you have any idea what kind of bacteria can develop…" Silenced with a soft, but forceful kiss, Brennan melted into the surrounding ebony cloth.

"At 6:00 in the morning Bones, _that_ is an observation you keep to yourself."

"Duly noted." A sharp buzz of the doorbell startled the pair out of their gaze.

"What the…" Scrambling off the bed, Booth and Brennan rushed toward the door; an aching pain echoing in the back of his head began a sudden circuit as Brennan opened the door to two stiff-legged police officers, their badges shoved into her face.

"Excuse me miss, but do you happen to be a Ms. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian?"

Confusion etched Booth's face, but his annoyance at the disruption only peaked when the trio stood in a strangled, tight silence. "That's _Doctor_ Temperance Brennan."

"Of course, our apologies miss."

"Booth!" Brennan glared sharply at the dumbfounded man behind her.

"What?"

"Doctor Brennan, you're under arrest for aggravated assault on one Liam Jacobs." Grabbing hold of her hands, the two cops clicked on the cold handcuffs and walked her down the apartment.

"What?"

"Aggravated! Are you serious…I…Booth don't worry, stay here and I'll call you! Stay in the apartment! I'll get this mess all worked out…aggravated, the nerve!" The bickering trio disappeared out the front door and into the rising morning light, leaving a distraught Booth standing alone in the doorway. "What?"

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The ignition lighted, a roar of commotion thrumming in his ears as he pressed the gas pedal and sped off down the street. He silently cursed himself for leaving his shoes at the apartment as his cut feet rubbed against the hard rubber, but for some reason had managed to remember to throw on a wrinkled button-up shirt. An insistent ticking reminded him that wearing his seatbelt was important so he strapped it on in a flurry—the ticking gone. Sweat dripped from his face and he rubbed at the stinging droplets, but the nervous sweat only increased its flow as he gripped the wheel with a death-like hold. He had to fill this sudden void inside him.

Forever it seemed; his life had been continuously molded into that of a lone wolf. A soldier of one. Years spent under the harsh words of his father and the military taught him his mistakes were his burden to carry—no one else's. The blood was on his hands only. A man must fix his error or go down alone, there is to be no dragging along others.

Booth blasted his horn in a fury as a pigeon swooped dangerously close to his wheels. Brennan was in his crosshairs, on the brink of demise. He had to save her before his demons became all too real, before he lost himself.

The phone in the passenger seat buzzed loudly, the vibrations sending Booth whirring back into the bloody field of Rubishia. Reaching for the cell phone, now transformed into a small pistol, Booth clutched the weapon closely. Sweat turned to blood. The ground rumbled under him, crumbling into wind-blasted trenches, bodies draped along the edge.

Booth squealed his car away from the trenches—lamps dissolving into sun kissed palms as he zoomed past the disturbing hallucinations. A red blur barreled up alongside him, trapped in the unraveling seams of his mind. One bold look at the dead, maniac terrorist solidified Booth's apprehensions. The nightmare ended in a deadening crash, steaming engine buried deep within the corner of a brick building.

Booth opened the car door, shards of glass cascaded to the asphalt, dampening the scene in a frazzled white.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Head screaming and eyes blazing red heat, Booth turned threateningly on the concerned pedestrian. "Alright! I just…I…my head and car…oh my God! Alright!?" Booth halted his torrid yelling and stared wildly at the beeping name on his cell phone. "Bones…" Looking up at the man who was now backing cautiously away, Booth quickly realized he needed the man. "Sir, come back please." Booth gingerly waved the man back over.

"Is there any thing I can do to help?" Booth looked down his nose at the shorter, concerned man, saddened by the fact that he was about to scare the living daylights out of him. Laying the craziness on thick wasn't as hard as he had expected as the shadows in the back of his mind directed his motives.

"You know, I'm feeling a little crazy right now!" Booth threw the man against the car, a tight grip on his shirt collar. "I don't know if it's the heat or your cologne, but something is making me feel…like ripping something to shreds!" The man whimpered uncontrollably, his lip trembling as Booth cocked his head, a smirk on his face. Booth released the man and backed away, hands waving sporadically in the air as he animated his words. "Get it together man!" Booth tossed his phone to his unwarranted victim. "Call the police before I do something really stupid! My head is going crazy right now I might just end up releasing all my anger on you!"

Dialing the number, the man screamed into the phone. Tearing off his shirt, Booth spun around, feet burning on the hot street. "Bars. I think the metal bars may hold me back you know. God I feel like hulk right now! I may not be green and humungous, but I have the fury of a big green man with fake muscles! Haha, come on man don't look at me like that! Everybody wants to be hulk!" Booth burst out laughing, his stomach aching as he doubled over. The man's face had turned a bright scarlet, the veins along his neck about to burst as he held his breath to stop his tears.

A police siren blared as it parked next to Booth's crushed car. Reining in the wild side of his punishment, Booth took a deep breath and calmed his frazzled nerves. "Look man, I feel horrible about putting you through all of this. You'll be getting a big payoff for being such a sport and putting up with my antics. I'm truly very sorry." Booth stuck out his hand, but received a dumbfounded jaw drop instead.

"What the…You're crazy!"

"Tell me something I don't already know." Booth strutted over to the police men, hands waving around. "Take me home boys!"

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A short forty-five minutes later, a chattering Booth and two peeved cops walked through the swirling doors of the station and halted at the check-in counter to speak with the bored woman behind the window.

"No ID, no valuables, a stolen car and he calls himself "The Hulk" which means he's just another run-of-mill, living on the street, crazy that got to cocky and scared the shit out of a pedestrian."

Leaning forward, gum smacking, the woman gave Booth the once-over and raised her eyebrows in approval. "Put him in the holding cell, he'll be out soon enough."

Hands cuffed together, Booth tapped lightly on the glass to get the woman's attention. "Excuse me miss, but do you think you could keep the gum smacking to minimum, it's mighty rude. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't gawk at my butt as I walk away," Leaning forward to look her in the eyes, Booth smiled sheepishly, "It makes me feel self-conscious."

The two cops snickered amongst themselves as they watched the woman's lustful stare become replaced by a scorned glare, the gum rolling around in her mouth. "Yeah, whatever. Holding cell 3 for him."

Brennan stood up abruptly as Booth's voice drifted down the short corridor. "Booth, finally. I've been trying to reach you, but you didn't answer your phone. You have the bail money right…wait…why are your hands cuffed…"

The bars slammed open, where Booth was tossed in with Brennan, the pair looking disheveled, baffled at the current circumstances. Taking a seat on the wood benches across from each other, Brennan looked questioningly at Booth, his head resting against the cement wall, eyes sparkling. "Booth, what on earth are you doing in this cell with me?"

"Oh, I felt like experiencing the system firsthand. I've never been to jail before, and since I'm starting my life over, I though, hell, why not! They really need to get some new employees though, did you see…"

"Booth!" Brennan gasped, a smirk on her tired face. Booth glimpsed the sadness in her eyes, felt her concern creep into his bones. She knew him all to well.

"I didn't want to be alone."

"Well, now we get to experience the jail system together. Speaking of which, what did you do to get thrown into jail, you look terrible."

"Thanks, but that, my dear Bones, is a story for another day. Right now we have to think about who will bail us out." Walking over, Brennan sat down next to Booth, her head lighting on his shoulder.

"That's why I called you."

"Well, it wouldn't help any since I'm dead."

Brennan reached for his face, "Booth you can't…"

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth shook his head at Brennan's thoughtful attempt to make him feel better. "No Bones, I mean I'm literally dead. I never signed off on the death certificate."

Sighing audibly as she got up, Brennan threw up her hands in mock disbelief. "That's certainly a problem, but we'll get it taken care of."

Booth turned slightly away from her gorgeous smile, his hands straying back to their tight grip on the wood bench, the thud of his heart beating in his throat as he tried to swallow. "Yeah…"

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A boisterous voice echoed between the bars of their cell, followed by a leering whistle and a high-pitched giggle offered gratuitously. His black, polished shoes squeaked across the dirty tile until he was situated in front of their cell. He stood silent, hands on hips, chest puffed out and his head cocked back with an air of self-righteousness. "That's her." He pointed his slender finger accusingly at Brennan, her face twisted in disapproval. The police officer nodded and walked back down the hallway.

"So glad you took the time to come _all_ the way down here to point fingers, Liam. I guess some things never change." At the sound of the other man's name, Booth jerked forward, his curiosity ready to explode as he kept his mouth shut and focused on the pair.

"Actually Temperance," Liam reached up to his broken nose, the blistering, purple bruise painted across the left side of his face had sealed his eye shut in a puffy mess. "After being the innocent victim in a raging woman's unjustified attack I _should _be pressing charges, but being the absolute gentleman that I am—and have always been—I decided to drop them and post your bail. Hopefully this mess will be resolved quietly and without any problems."

Brennan could hardly believe what she was hearing. Turning to Booth, she voiced her thoughts out loud so Booth would understand. "He's a lawyer now. The Agency asked him to resign after he was caught stealing from the Bureau's funds." She turned her attention back to Liam. "Really, it should be you behind bars. I still can't for the life of me figure out how you managed to pull off only being asked to resign. You must have paid off quite a few crooked cops and agents." Looking at Booth, his jaw now clenched tightly, the anger in his eyes. "Looks like you got some work to do over there."

Liam pressed his face against the bars, suppressed fury burning hot fire on every hissed whisper. "You shut your mouth right now."

Smiling delicately, Brennan narrowed her eyes. "You're wearing a wire to show your "generous" side. I guess the court is sniffing around and you don't want something this minor to blow up in your face, what with your federal crimes and all."

Speeding hands shot through the bars, snaking around her soft, fleshy throat and gripped tightly, strangling her soft laugh into a coughing sob. "I'll kill you!"

Booth dashed over, cracking Liam's wrist against the bar as he pulled the wheezing woman out if his vehement grasp. Rage collided with the ferocious voices in his head—kill—chanting on repeat as he felt the heat of violence fog his conscious. Their positions switched, Liam pinned against the cold, metal bars, his neck and arm trapped by Booth's steady, precise hands. Kill. He was losing the battle against the rigid soldier within him, his body and soul begging his mind to execute his hidden wishes, his mission. Kill.

Booth's fingers squeezed the rough skin a little tighter, but his internal struggle escaped him when his darting eyes came in contact with the scared, tearful eyes of Brennan, her face ashen from shock.

"Booth…?"

Fighting off the now shrieking voices, Booth released the spluttering man and backed away from the bars. He had his reason. Chest raising in unison with each nervous breath, Booth new the situation was now dire as he attempted to apologize for his violent outburst. Brennan wandered cautiously up to the wounded soldier and wrapped her arms around his waist, warm auburn locks resting against his heart.

It hit her hard. The realization of what Booth was going through finally sunk in and it hurt her to see him so lost. She had to be there always. She had to give him a reason.

"That's Booth!?" Liam kicked a nearby trashcan only to cry out in pain as his toe throbbed under his scuffed shoe. "Forget it! I'm not posting your bail!" Yanking the wire out of his shirt and throwing it into the trash, Liam screamed at the faraway guards for not paying attention. "Damnit! Why is everyone against me! I don't deserve being threatened by the likes of you two! Believe me, this is anything but finished!" Striding haughtily down the corridor, Liam ripped the old photo frames off the wall, the glass smashing against the tile, splintering into thousands of pieces. He threw one last comment over his shoulder as he slammed threw the spiraling doors and into his waiting cab. "You two deserve each other! You're both fucking crazy!"

Still clasped together, the pair was consumed by each other's loving touch, both trying to find a way to let the other now that there was a reason for them to hang on. They just had to find a way to avoid temptation, to avoid slipping into a darkness neither could navigate.

Drumming up the courage to speak, Booth pressed his cheek into her hair and whispered lightly. I'm so sorry Bones…but I think I just scared away our bail money."

Brennan laughed delightedly, her face shining as Booth's mouth twitched into his charm smile. The tension and angst had disappeared, leaving behind the ecstatic, love-struck man who commanded all her feelings; her very own knight in shining FBI standard-issued body armor.

"So, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you two are finished?"

Brennan patted the tip of Booth's nose, smiling at the hint of jealousy in his voice. "Believe me Booth, we never even got started."

"Oh, because I mean you…"

"Booth, because of your little tantrum, we now have to resort to calling the one person we didn't want to discover our little side trip to jail." They looked at each other, the name passing their lips simultaneously.

"Angela."

Brennan nodded, pushing Booth's half-struggling body towards the phone hanging on the cell wall. "She's all yours tiger!"

Booth grabbed the greasy phone off the receiver, the metal cord twirled in knots. No dial tone. A scratched paper asked for fifty cents, so he dug around his pant pocket but only found a quarter. "Um, Bones…"

"What?"

"I need a quarter."

"Yeah. Okay, let me see." Brennan fished around, but quickly stopped after remembering what she was wearing. "I'm in my P.J.'s. I don't have any pockets."

"Great, now what."

"Well, I'm sure you could get a couple bucks off the woman at the front counter seeing as how you decided to go to jail looking like a Chippendale." Brennan raised her eyebrows, her attention directed at his body.

"For _your_ viewing pleasure." Booth added defensively, mock indignation coloring his face. He looked down at his bare chest, the jeans hanging limply on his hips, his tousled hair shifted slightly to the right. "Hmm, you think I could get in, their pretty elite. I could go for a career change; maybe that is my true destiny, to become a male stripper…"

"Booth, the woman passes by the cell every half hour to refresh her makeup in the bathroom. You'll just have to stop her when she comes by, flirt a bit and get us our quarter."

Booth sat down on his bench, laughing cheerfully at their predicament and at Brennan's serious determination. "Bones, I think I'm worth a little more than a quarter and besides, the woman hates me."

"Why would she hate you? Everybody loves you! Grandmas love you! You can't get anymore lovable than that! Come on Booth, you're just going to give up! We need that quarter!"

Leaping up, Booth gave Brennan a joyful hug, unable to control the mirth coursing through him. He loved her quirky, serious resolve and he found it impossible to deny her of her quarter, especially when she looked at him with that confused, earnest pleading in her eyes. "Thank you Bones! You've helped me see the light!" It was all fun and games now for him, the past forgotten in the back of his mind for a few fleeting minutes as the present took hold.

Heels clacked across the tile as a deafening voice sung the recent rap song to hit the charts. Her hair flicked around like a cat tail as she swayed her butt back and forth, the tight miniskirt about to burst.

"Excuse me Miss, but I really wanted to apologize to you for what I said before."

His sincere voice caught her attention and the spark in his eyes pulled her closer to the bars. Brennan watched in awe, amazed that she had been blind to this side of him for years. "I didn't mean any of it. You see, I was just playing a character, to confuse the cops." Booth leaned in and gripped the bars, his hot breath tickling the brunette's cheek. "I think smacking gum is really sexy." Booth had to drop his head to stop from laughing out loud, his cheeks burning red as her hand drifted across his bruised knuckles.

"Oh, you poor baby. My name's Tracy." She replied, her gum smacking louder than usual.

"Tracy…that's a beautiful name; fits you perfectly." Booth gave her his best charm smile, hand outstretched to help her keep her balance as she about fainted. "Listen Tracy, I could really use your help. See, I'm absolutely poor right now and need to make a very important phone call. Do you think you could spare a quarter? I would greatly appreciate it." Booth tilted his head questioningly.

"Oh honey, you are worth _way_ more than a quarter!" Her eyelashes sagged under the mounds of mascara as she took in his body once more, giving a short sigh of approval.

"That's what I said!" Booth found that his cocky ego was enjoying this little escapade very much. Brennan was ready to teach him a lesson once they got out of the station. "But really, all I need is a quarter."

Tracy scrounged around in her oversized bag, yanked out her coin purse and took out a quarter. "Here you go babe."

"Thanks so much Tracy, you're a doll." Booth took her hand lightly and kissed it, adding the cherry on top. Fanning herself with her elongated nails, she smiled sweetly and turned away.

Booth twirled around, a smug smile on his face that wilted under Brennan's glare. He jumped suddenly as Tracy tucked a twenty dollar bill in his waistband and sauntered off down the hallway.

Walking over the Brennan, Booth placed a sincere, lustful kiss on her pouting lips. Leaning back he smiled genuinely as he watched her savor the kiss, her eyes still closed. He set the twenty in Brennan's hand, an outline of red lipstick stuck on it. "I think this belongs to you."

Booth made his short walk over to the phone, put the quarters into the slot and dialed the number. A clipped, cheerful voice answered the phone.

"Angela, this is Booth…" Her screaming, thrilled voice came through the intercom in a frenzy. Brennan fell to the floor, her belly laughs bouncing off the walls as Booth tried to interject his words in between Angela's shrieking chatter, his face a mix of annoyance and excitement. They had a reason.


	13. Paradox

**A/N: So it's Bones Friday and I finally finished this freaking chapter. Took me forever, but I love this story so it was worth it! Alrighty, I meant to mention a few things earlier but they sort of slipped my mind until now. :)**

**I wanted to apologize to everyone that Booth and Brennan are somewhat OOC; I just took it as liberty since this is fan fiction and not the show and it fits the story don't ya think! Hopefully this chapter will explain why they are the way they are. ;)**

**If my writing style confuses anyone, please ask questions and I'll answer them in the review section or a reply. This way I learn to write better and you all remain entertained! Thanks!**

**I decided that Booth has Daddy issues because I seemed to get that vibe whenever he talked about his father or even Brennan's on the show.**

**Enjoy!**

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The intensity in the car was sickening; red-hot electricity flowing from her entire being in strong jolts, only to fumble and fade as they tickled Booth's taught skin. He could not connect—detached and numb against her desire.

The past three weeks had been hell. An uphill battle, they had fought their side of the unfair struggle bravely, only to slip and crumble against his inner demon's strength and persistence. Booth knew he was careening on the edge, an unfathomable fate skirted only by Brennan's slipping, weak hold.

Booth stole a quick glance at Brennan as he sank lower into the warmness of the passenger seat. He swore he saw here deep breaths turn to steam as they whistled past her teeth. She was thinking. Forehead crinkled, dark pupils dilating, Booth watched perplexed as she mumbled anthropological jargon, his terse name mixed in every once an awhile. He figured she was trying to make sense of his problem, trying to give it a name, definition, anything that might relate it to her views. She needed—wanted—to understand, but this was a psychological phenomenon, not something that could be solved in her lab of plastic and she, of course, _hates_ psychology.

"What?" Booth jumped in his seat, scared out of his mind as her sharp voice rung through his thoughts. Wiping his forehead, he peered at Brennan, her blue eyes clouded, lips pinched tightly.

"Hey…" passion curtailed by a hint of desperation hung on his monosyllabic attempt at easing the tension—to connect. A small, real smile flashed across her face, outlined by the plump flesh of her painted lips.

"Hey." Focus gathering behind her eyes brought her attention forward once more. Booth licked his own lips in a rapid succession, eyes glued on the deep red that seemed to beckon him with a sort of mocking torture. He hadn't tasted her since their fiasco with the prison system; hadn't felt her pearly skin beneath his warm body or her hot, passionate breath whispering in his ear.

It had all been too much for a woman still trying to understand the world she lived in. She was still trying to understand what it meant to be loved. Overwhelming and unbearable, she pulled away. Got scared. She needed time to think and he would wait patiently for her, for the time when she could give her entire self to the one man who could wait; because he loved her, only her and would wait for rest of eternity if it meant a single moment wrapped in her devoted arms.

Unfortunately, the demons in his head would not wait. The restraint on their impulsive mergence—ripped his heart, his soul—allowing the emotional numbness that festered alongside his punishment to feast on his weakened state.

With numb emotions came enraged mood swings. His first couple ease-back-into-the-agency cases were dropped due to his abnormal violent outbursts and escalading screaming matches with his partner. Booth was handed an undetermined leave of absence to deal with his "personal" issues along with a stern warning from his superiors to "get his goddamn act together." Booth smirked as a vivid picture eased into his thoughts of his Boss's face when he told them they could all go to hell, that way he would at least have some company when _he_ got there.

Neither were the reason for the deepening rift between them and yet, both were guilty of pushing their relationship closer towards the rocky ledge. They had found themselves an arms length away from discovering the true meaning behind goodbye is forever. Their only glimmer of hope was the feverish assurances that what had transpired between them was special and neither regretted their actions.

Booth took one more sidelong glance at Brennan, swallowed a deep breath and took his first tiny backward step toward salvation. "Why do you get to drive?" A nuance of snobbery and playful mocking glided across his brisk question.

"Did you forget what happened the last time you were driving?" She said it so matter-of-fact that it made Booth's skin crawl with uneasiness. He couldn't tell if she was hinting at his accident, delusions or both. He settled quickly on the latter. Her face wasn't giving him any leeway, but he noticed the tone of her voice alter a few decibels into her often used comfort zone of being teasingly cynical.

"Look Bones, I'm sorry I wrecked your car, but I don't think you should take your anger out on the company's van. Heck, all even let you use me as your personal punching bag, just don't scratch the…" Brennan screeched the large van around the corner, and Booth cringed wildly as the tires scrapped across the concrete divider. "Oh, you so did that on purpose!" Booth glared viciously, mouth dropped in a stupor.

Brennan cocked her head towards him, blues eyes wide, an angled smile slapped across her glowing face. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Booth sat up straight with a sudden zing of energy. He had just received his olive branch and was ready to stretch his cringingly dusty and underused bickering muscles; the one thing he had yearned nonstop for while he was away.

"Right there! That is why I don't let _you_ drive!" A slender finger was aimed at Brennan's smug face.

"Wha…well it's not like you know where were going anyway." She replied abashed.

"Mapquest, Bones."

"Don't _even_ bring that unfortunate, dreadful website into this conversation. Last time you made me look up directions for some way off case in the middle of some swamp infest," Brennan stared at Booth's dancing eyes to drive her hatred home. "Wrong directions! They certainly sent us on a quest, right through a heap of decaying sludge, probably thought they were being clever with there satirical idiom."

Booth hadn't laughed this hard since the day he had returned, his stomach was doing painfully joyful flips at the memory of Brennan's twisted face as she opened her passenger door and stepped into glop of carcass-colored mud.

"Come on Bones! Live a little!"

"Yeah because you haven't lived until your waist deep in fecal matter."

Booth calmed his laugh and smiled widely, his fingers brushing against Brennan's shoulder, the rush of electricity heating the car. "Hey think of the all the good things that came out of that trip. Us; sitting mud-soaked on the roof of the van waiting for our lost rescue. You; giggling uncontrollably at the "absurdity of our predicament". Me; watching the woman I love lose her facade and enjoy life. I debated about kissing you right than and there."

Brennan grew silent, lifting her curious eyes toward Booth's sullen, nostalgic face. "Why didn't you?"

Booth huffed out a laugh, deciding to tell her the obvious rather than the real reason. "Not exactly the most romantic setting for a first kiss Bones."

"Oh." There was another reason but she didn't want to push him. He always told her she liked to nag, might as well start with fixing that. "My Dad sent me a letter from jail. He wants me to visit before his last trial; he says there's more to say."

Booth choked on his breath as he suddenly remembered what he had done to her father before he had been sent away. "Wow Bones, that was random. Are you going to go?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure about much right now."

"Look Bones, your father is ready to spend the rest of his life trying to mend the broken ties between you two. I think it's time to take a step towards forgiveness unless you want to lose him again."

"Booth, I don't think it's that cut and dry."

"At least your father is willing to try." Booth clamped his mouth shut. Brennan noticed a bit more emphasis on the "your", but decided against her itch to nag.

"He's a murderer Booth; how am I supposed to just forgive someone who kills people—innocent or not!" The words flew from her mouth before her brain could register the hurtful connotations. Booth face was frozen, his jaw locked, breath like ice against the window.

Brennan stammered wildly as she felt their connection fading weakly away, caught on the stinging tidal wave of her runaway thoughts. "Booth, I'm so…"

"The world isn't black and white Bones." His voice was forceful, monotone, but had the slush of painful vulnerability. Two steps forward, one step back. The push and pull of human failure created a swallowing vacuum that many lost in the harrowing consequences could not escape.

The grumbling van rolled past the electric blue sign of D.C's Georgetown University Hospital.

"Were here."

"Where's here." The car jerked into an open parking space in front of the tan building. The pair stepped out of the black car and gathered on the sidewalk. Brennan felt Booth's cold hand waver precariously over her lower back, than disappear into his suit pocket. Their spark was gone—her fault—and now it was up to her to shield him from the enticing numbness. Sighing deeply, Brennan wrapped her arm around Booth and steered him through the large, glass doors. "Welcome to the Mood and Anxiety Disorders program!" Brennan halted in front of a wooden door and turned toward Booth.

"What?"

Still clinging to Booth's waist, Brennan smoothed her hand across the side of Booth's head, his hair prickling against her fingers. "You asked for my help Booth. The past three weeks I've been contemplating how my anthropological studies and my lab could possibly fix your problem. Nothing. My plastic tubes can't help you." Brennan licked her lips, her idea bubbling rapidly out of her mouth. "So, I went to the library, looked up psychology and read. For hours I sat there pouring over those books—Freud, Watson, Skinner's box—and it finally clicked. Human life is more than bone and skin, more than science and intelligence. It's also about risks and mistakes, emotions and love. You need more and I'm ready to be more. I'm ready to help you and I'll be by your side every step of the way." Pulling his head down, wandering feelings flowing from her eyes and enveloping his face, her lips lightly caressed his own, but she felt nothing in return. He was empty. She pulled back and opened the door for him to go in. "I'll wait for you."

Booth's head thrummed quizzically at her last words as he neared the office door on the other side of the room. Brennan lighted herself on the coal-grey couch and flipped open a magazine, her eyes clouded in a mist of loss.

Knocking soundly on the door, Booth instantly recognized the stiff smell of cologne as the door burst open. A short doctor and his elderly patient chattering their goodbyes filled the doorway. Booth stared at the man flabbergasted.

"You!"

"You. I knew you were crazy the minute I saw you. You still owe me my "big payoff" so I'll tack it on to the bill if you don't mind."

Booth waved his hand outward. "Yeah, sure, jeez, I don't mind at all."

"Ohh, a sarcastic one."

"Hah!" Booth followed the red-haired man into his office, winking at Brennan as the door shut. Behind the foggy glass, Brennan watched the silhouettes of the only two men capable of putting everyone's lives back in order.

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Booth sat uneasily in the hard leather chair across from the young, friendly-looking doctor who wore a black pinstriped dress shirt and pants.

"How about we start over. My name is Doctor Hugh Bristol, but you may call me Hugh. I'm here to find out what is causing your mood swings, violent outbursts and such."

"Well. I'm Booth," Ears pricking at a nearing tick, Booth's eyes roamed the small office for the disturbance. "I'm not exactly sure why I'm here, it was Bones's idea and…" Chewing on his lip, Booth fidgeted against the squeaking leather, wiping the droplets of sweat from his forehead. "Look Hugh, I need you turn off what ever is making that ticking, those vibrations."

Nodding his head, Dr. Bristol walked over to his mahogany desk and flipped off the clock, the green, ticking numbers vanishing.

"Thanks."

"So ticking and vibrations bother you?" He flipped out his small notebook and jotted down a few notes. Booth stared at his feet and massaged his cold hands, a whir of a bomb flowing past his ear.

"They're a constant reminder." He didn't want to talk about that day. He didn't want to live the nightmare for the umpteenth time.

"Of what may I ask?"

"That I died." Hugh felt the wave of shame riding Booth's bleak acceptance hit him in the chest. Scrunching his eyes, he looked at the weary, downtrodden man with an air of perplexity.

"But Booth you survived! You returned home a hero." Tears in his eyes, Booth looked up.

"My body and thoughts may have returned, but Booth sure as hell didn't." Noticing he had the doctor's full attention, Booth decided to give up any resistance and let his memories speak. "I was dead when they found me under those palm fronds, a death grip on my buddy Jeremy. Three times. I was resurrected three times between Rubishia and the Mental Institute. My body—barely identifiable— was set upon by all those top of the line doctors. I would wake up in between surgeries, screaming bloody murder at the agony. Not from the pain, but from the inescapable clutches of the muddled nightmares terrorizing my mind." Stopping to rub his face, the scrape of his stubble echoing through the small office, Booth stared meekly at Hugh, who beckoned him to continue.

"I was in that hellhole for almost two years until Ben came and helped me recover. I don't know what's worst—being strapped to a bed, sleeping through a tirade of horror or waking up to a life of death. Honestly Hugh, I don't know who "Booth" is anymore."

Finding himself transfixed on every word, Hugh felt the empathy within him weave itself around the rarity of this military man's plight. "Have you talked to your partner about this?"

"What? No, I wouldn't want…we would just end up bickering about it." Hugh took note of this answer.

"Booth, do you and Brennan argue a lot?" Booth sat up, he couldn't understand what this question was for, but followed any way.

"We don't argue, we bicker; for fun."

"For Fun?"

"Yeah, it gives us a thrill during the boring part of our job. It keeps us both on our toes, ready for anything and I think we both crave it."

"I see, but I'm sure it veers into heated territory at times."

"Of course it does. Were both hotheaded." Booth laughed heartily at this recognition. "Take the car ride over for example. She brings up her father which she _knows_ is a hot topic for us. Why? So she can get a jab in about how she still sees murder as an unforgivable act." Booth sighed deeply, wiping the mist out of his eyes then situated his visage on his untied shoelace.

"Your father and your guilt; the two biggest problems affecting you it seems. Both happened to be brought up by the woman you love."

The words hitting a little to close to home, Booth shot up and stared intrepidly at the complacent doctor. "I never said that."

"No, but your actions certainly did." Hugh stood up as well, walked over to the window where the sunlight hit the floor in colored shafts. His ruffled, red hair blazed in the warm light as he peeked out across the busy street, a plucky, knowing glint in his eyes. "I was a medical doctor in the army for three years. Served in Iraq. To kill without a second thought. I always found it ironic that the two things I learned from the military was how to save or take a life. I'm proud of my service, always will, but I didn't sign up for myself. I did it to prove to my father that I was everything he said I wasn't. My father died from cancer before my return home, never got a chance to show him what I had become." Hugh turned to look at Booth, whose face was drained of all color. "The military seems to be your cancer Booth, it's eating you alive. I need to know what made you join."

A straggled cough escaped Booth's mouth as he slid back into the leather couch, now sticky to his touch. "My father…"

"Okay. I think I'll leave it at that for now."

"No. I've spent my entire life attempting to prove to him that I'm not worthless! I've been living in the shadow of my overachieving, trustworthy, good-little-catholic brother. My service, my career, my religion, my life has all been molded into what that man desires, but I'm still a failure in his eyes. I made one huge, careless mistake during my teenage years and have been wallowing in regret and remorse ever since. Kicked me to the curb is what he did, so with no where else to go I enlisted. The military filled the gaping hole left by my father. I did it to show him that I'm not afraid of anything, that I'm not afraid of him." Booth had begun a torrential pace across the office, the carpet starting to wear where his shoes scuffed agitatedly. Hugh had taken a seat in the corner, out of view, allowing Booth to speak his mind.

"What are you afraid of?"

Booth peered through the foggy glass at Brennan's silhouette, the one person he needed most to understand. "Everything. I'm afraid of my life becoming one gigantic failure, afraid of myself and the guilt I carry, I'm afraid that Bones will never forgive me, afraid that I'll lose her, that I'll hurt her, physically and emotionally. A real Catch-22, with or without her, either way I will still mange to hurt her. It's inevitable." His eyes welling with tears, chest rising with humiliating anger, Booth scrapped his back slowly down the wall until he hit the floor. Dr. Bristol walked gently over to Booth—his pen and paper forgotten—and kneeled silently next to him.

"Booth, why on earth would you say something like that? You would never hurt her intentionally."

"I all ready have. The minute I stepped off that boat and onto D.C. soil, the anger and emotional numbness from years ago returned. Those little demons in my head sending me back onto the fields of Rubishia, all the hallucinations and violent outbursts—those aren't me."

A sudden realization hit Hugh like a bullet. "You're telling me that this has happened to you before!"

Booth muffled a curse at his slip. "It was never this bad before! It was mainly anger with some minor nightmares, but I could keep it under control .After awhile I somehow suppressed it until it reared its head the night before I left."

"Why didn't you tell the agency about this or the military? Why didn't you get help!?" Booth tugged on Hugh's tie to calm him down, his eyes radiating menace at the doctor's outburst.

"Hugh, listen. The second I resigned from the military I was still young and needed a job bad. I tell the agency or the military I might have PTSD, well, I might as well go apply at Burger King because there goes all chances at having a job with any substance. Nobody wants to pay for an employee's medical bills. Besides, I've seen what happens when a soldier announces he has PTSD; He gets reamed by all his buddies that he's weak, a failure. I will not put myself or anyone around me through that. Never."

Hugh ran his hand through his thick hair, shaking his head. "Jeez Booth, you've really put me between a rock and a hard place."

Booth bumped the man's shoulder. "My specialty." He watched the doctor earnestly, the cogs behind the man's green eyes working overtime.

"Alright." The short, Irish doctor leaped up and waded through the papers on his cluttered desk. Puffing his chest with glee as he finally found his lost prescription pad, Hugh sat cross legged next to Booth, his back flat against the painted wall. "This is what I think we can do. You're suffering from an extreme case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, with, undoubtedly, a case of Hysteria due to your stay at the mental institute. I also believe the baggage your carrying about needing forgiveness and your father is amping up the stress causing your nightmares to seem real and more frequent."

"That's quite a lot on one plate."

"Definitely, but it is possible for anyone to overcome life's hardships, they just need to want it bad enough."

"I want it and will do anything if it means I get to be Booth again." He replied, wringing his hands profusely.

"That's what I was hoping. Now listen carefully. I've been reading a medical journal about a pill designed to help those suffering from extreme cases of PTSD. It's still in the experimental stage, the most of the side affects are still unknown, but some scientists say that it has worked exceptionally well on the lab rats that were tested. The pill is still under a heated debate because many believe it is unethical."

"Why?"

"It is said to erase the memories, not suppress them. To mess with the human mind is like playing devil's advocate against God's creation. That is many protesters view anyway. Six other PTSD suffers across the globe have been asked to test the new pill, still labeled XXX3. Two men have attempted suicide; one woman got better, but was sent to a mental hospital after a sudden regression while the other three have reportedly been healed of their affliction."

Booth let the words seep in, rolling each meaning around, weighing the pros and cons of each choice, the riskiest gamble ever played. "A coin toss, the stakes being your life."

"Basically. I only brought this to your attention Booth because of the rarity of your case and your strong opposition towards dealing with these issues through the normal extensive therapy, where you would have to leave your job and inform the military. This is a huge risk, a life-altering choice, one that could possibly mean death. It's a decision that should be discussed with those close to you. I don't want you to make a wrong choice and than suffer the consequences for years to come."

Closing his eyes slowly, Booth could feel the heat in the back of his head, the swirling darkness of his punishment. Life was a thing of the past to him now; he just wanted the young man he'd lost years ago in the struggle against failure to return so he could have a future--One he could spend with the love of his life.

"I'll do it."

"Booth I don't think…"

"She doesn't need to know. I'd rather her be happy-in-love, aloof and discovering the world around her than downtrodden and hindered by my problem or its consequences. If I hadn't come back she would have still been living a life full of freewill and discoveries. If I ruin her chances at acheiving that life I could never live with myself. This is my cross to bear not hers." Getting up out of his helpless position and putting on a reassuring smile, Booth helped Dr. Bristol up and shook his hand, taking the written prescription as well.

"Thank You Hugh."

The empathetic doctor looked at Booth with disappointed commiseration. "Whether you want to admit it or not Booth, everyone needs help—even you. I implore you to talk to her, let her in. It's the only real way to defeat your demons. Something snapped the day you left and now it's time to put yourself back together, one piece at a time."

The broken glass in his apartment, lying bloody on his bathroom floor, faintly appeared in his mind, unraveling till it overtook his senses. Shaking the apprehensive feeling out of his body as he turned away, Booth gave his thankful goodbyes and walked over to Brennan, a flush of nervousness on her face. Placing his lingering hand on her lower back, Booth propelled them out of the building, a glowing smile hiding his deepening worries.

**A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't beg for reviews. Unfortunately, I suck at self-control and have found my self not above begging. Please, please, push that little square and type something. I know it's kind of dull and small, but it says "Go", that means one is meant to conform and follow the button! So go on, go push the little "Go" button and go type something. Go on, go push it, you know you want to tell me how annoying I am, go on…"**


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